Lover Come Back
by etaknosnhoj
Summary: Buffy and Spike are fluffily happy with their two kids; until someone shatters the peace of the family and puts lives in danger. Third in the AU Lies My Lover Told Me series
1. Prologue & Chapter One

_Third part of the Lies My Lover Told Me and Whole New You series: - if you read these first, this one might make a whole lot more sense!  Well, as much sense as they ever do._

_These fics get put on more than one site with different ways and means of reviewing; but reviews are always welcome!  No reviews make me sad and then I do nasty things to the characters.  Or I do nothing at all.  So the moral of this story is: review lots and get more nice happy fic!_

Prologue__

            The fire was fantastic, a huge conflagration spitting out bits of timber and metal like a giant, deadly firework.  People ran from it, screaming.  There were sounds of sirens.

            Spike supposed he'd better get out of there.  Buffy'd be pissed off if she had to bail him out again.  He grabbed his sack of booty - the reason he'd torched the place to begin with was so they'd never go looking for this stuff - and made for his bike.

            And then he heard it.  A child crying.  "Mama, mama!"

            He stopped, torn.  Dammit.  He'd figured everyone had got out.

            You know, five years ago he'd have just gone.  Just left the kid there.

            Bloody Buffy.  It was all her fault.

            Grinding his teeth, he turned back and squinted into the fire.  A small child, so small he couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl, dirty and terrified, bawling with fear.  Probably it could run out, but was too scared.

            He darted in, grabbed the kid who screamed even louder at this black-clad, white-haired, sharp-boned figure, and ran out.  There was no one there, so Spike kicked his motorbike into life and rode off with the kid clinging to his side, still screaming.

            Bloody Buffy.  He hoped she'd appreciate this.

            Buffy was sitting on the floor outside the KFC at the mall, her legs stretched out, playing patty-cake with a very small child of her own.  A blonde kid.  Angelic, with wispy blonde curls and big blue eyes, laughing and grinning as her mother got the moves wrong on purpose.  Buffy laughed back, and they started again.

            Riley stood and watched for a while, then made his move, walking past and 'accidentally' tripping over Buffy's Keds.

            "Oh, I'm sorry - Buffy?"

            She looked up, startled.  "_Riley_?"

            He grinned down at her.  "Hey, what are the odds?"

            "What are you doing in Sunnydale?"  The little girl got bored and clambered onto her mother's lap, looking for attention.  Buffy wrapped her arms around the kid, holding her close as she looked up at Riley.

            "Remember my friend Graham?  He was dating this girl at Sunnydale U and now they're getting married.  I'm the best man."

            "Oh, that's great."

            She looked fantastic: older than before, but it suited her.  Her hair was shorter too, a cute feathered bob that made her look like a pixie.  She was wearing jeans and a little t-shirt and she was slim and tanned and beautiful.  Shifting the little girl to one side, she stood up, then picked up the kid when she fussed.

            "And who's this?"  Riley wasn't great with kids, but he'd make an effort for Buffy.

            "This is Alice.  Alice, this is my old friend Riley Finn.  Say hello."

            Alice's eyes dropped away shyly.

            "Usually I can't stop her talking to strangers," Buffy said.  "C'mon, sweetie, he's nice."

            Riley smiled at the 'nice'.  "Last time I met you, you hadn't even been born," he said, thinking Alice must take after her mother, because she was tiny for a five-year-old.  Or maybe Buffy had been so stressed over being a single mother that she'd not got enough nutrition when she was pregnant.  His smile faded.  Maybe it had been because of Spike-

            "Actually, last time you met her was never," Buffy said.  "Alice is three.  Will's the one you met before he was born.  As it were.  He's at a birthday party in there," she pointed to a boisterous group of kids inside the KFC.  "Me and Alice were early to pick him up, so we thought we'd amuse ourselves out here."

            "Oh."  Two children?  So Will must be the baby she'd been having when Spike left her.  And then Alice... God only knew what sort of trouble Buffy had got into to end up with another kid.  "And... Will and Alice's dad is...?"

            Alice made a face, and Buffy groaned.  "He's in... where is he, love?  I don't know.  Somewhere in Asia, maybe?  Or is it Eastern Europe?  It's not like he ever tells me.  And you know me.  I don't do geography."

            So he'd given her two children, then left the country?  The rat!  How could he do that to Buffy?

            Right then another woman turned up to collect her child, and Buffy exchanged a greeting with her, and then one of the children saw his mother and waved, and then half a dozen of them ran out after him, and the party was over.

            Buffy collected her son, another beautiful child with very clear blue eyes and fair hair, went over the contents of his party bag with enthusiasm (a wind-up toy, a piece of squashed cake that had once had a bit of Spiderman's arm on it, a handful of sticky sweets and some collectible cards), checked he had his coat and his shoes and had said thank you to the birthday boy's mother, and eventually looked up at Riley, who'd been silent throughout.

            "Listen," he said, "I don't know if maybe you have some spare time, we could go grab a coffee or something?"  He looked at the children.  "Some chocolate milk?"

            Will started jumping up and down.  "Chocolate milk?!"

            "Aren't you full?" Buffy asked in amazement.

            "No, Darryl ate most of my chicken.  Chocolate milk?"

            "Deprived child," Buffy shook her head at him, then looked up at Riley.  "Okay, sure, coffee would be good.  Lead on."

            He took the procession to the nearest coffee shop and ordered chocolate milk for the kids, who drank a tiny bit each then set off chasing each other around in circles, and then he sat down with Buffy and a sophisticated cup of coffee.

            She asked for chocolate milk, too.  But then that was Buffy for you.

            "So," he began, at the same time she asked, "So how's Sam?"

            Riley's face fell.  It wasn't like he enjoyed being reminded.  "Okay, probably.  I haven't seen her in six months."

            "You haven't?  Oh no."  Her face was full of sympathy.  "What happened?"

            "Well..."

            Forty-five minutes later Buffy was sitting there with a glazed look on her face, wondering what she'd ever seen in Riley Finn.  Sure, he looked like a computer-generated hunk, but for quite a while now Buffy had preferred her men a little messed-up.  She'd finished her milk, and Will's, and Alice's, and finally she looked at her watch and exclaimed loudly, "Oh, no!"

            "What?" Riley interrupted his misery-fest to look at her.

            "I've just remembered.  Oh, we're going to be late!"

            "We are?"

            "_We_ are," Buffy gestured to her children.  "For the, er, dentist.  Yes.  Will has to go to the dentist.  All that chocolate milk," she explained.  "And we're late!  And it's impossible to get an appointment, so..."

            "I can drive you," Riley offered, having already mentioned his shiny new 4x4 several times.

            "No!  I mean, thanks, but I have all my stuff in the car, and, er, the kids' stuff, so..." She grabbed hold of Alice and started stuffing her coat on.  "We have to go.  Thanks for the milk.  We should catch up.  It's been great!"

            "But I don't have your number," Riley said, which was true since he'd searched for it in the phone book as soon as he'd known he was coming to Sunnydale.

            "I'm in the book."

            "No, you're not-"

            "No, I really am.  Look harder," Buffy said, and then in a flurry of coats and handbags and complaining children, she was gone.

            She raced out to the car park and got the kids in her mom-van in record time, terrified Riley was following her and she'd have to make up another excuse to get away from him.

            Had he always been that boring?

            Suddenly aware that Will was crying, she glanced in her rear-view mirror.  "What's the matter, sweetie?"

            "I don't wanna go to the dentist."

            "Oh, love, you don't have to.  I made that up.  We're not going there."

            Her son's face immediately changed from hurt to angry.  "Why did you say so then?"

            "To get away from Riley."

            "Why?"

            Here it goes, Buffy thought.  "Because I was sick of the sound of him," she said honestly.

            "Why?"

            "He was boring."

            "Why?"

            Buffy glared at him through the mirror.

            "He bought us chocolate milk," Alice piped up.

            "Well, yes.  I didn't say he wasn't nice.  He's just boring."

            "Where are we going?" Will asked.

            "Home," Buffy said with relief.

            "Did you see my Nemo toy?"

            "Yes, sweetheart, I did.  You can show me again when we get home."

            But when they got home and Buffy had gathered up all her shopping and made sure Alice still had both her shoes on and searched around in the bottom of the car for the Nemo toy and dropped her keys - twice - she fitted the front door key in the lock and couldn't turn it.

            The door was already unlocked.

            She froze, trying to remember if she'd locked it or not.  She was almost sure she had.

            Yes.  She had.

            So who had unlocked it?

            She stepped back and looked over the door, then the windows on either side.  Nothing was broken.

            Maybe it was Dawn.  Or Xander, come to deliver that chair he'd been mending for her.

            Or maybe it wasn't.

            "Okay, you two," she dumped the shopping between her children, "stay here.  I mean that.  Right here, and don't make a single sound or move so much as a toenail, all right?"

            "Toenails don't-" Will began, but Buffy silenced him with her Mom-look.  "Okay," he whispered.

            "Look after your sister," she said, and he nodded solemnly.  "I'll be right back."

            She pushed at the door, wishing she had something weighty to swing, holding her keys ready to scratch if she needed to.  She looked right, into the dining room.  No, it was empty, and her laptop was still there on the table.  She looked ahead, into the kitchen-

            "_Daddy_!"

            Alice's shout made Buffy's head whip sharply to the left, but before she could move she saw her daughter zip past her, into the living room, and throw herself at a man lying on the sofa.

            Buffy started forward, then her brain caught up to her eyes and realised what she was seeing.

            "Woah," Spike caught the little girl before she jumped on him, "careful there, love, you'll squash me."  He swung her up in the air, then pulled her against him, holding her tight.

            "Daddy!"  Will had followed his sister in and rushed over to the sofa.  Spike grabbed him and hugged both children as they babbled and clambered all over him.

            Eventually he looked up and saw Buffy standing there, biting her lip, staring at him like he was the first man she'd ever seen.

            "Hi honey," he grinned, "I'm home."

Chapter One

            She stood for a while just looking at him.  Was there anything in the world more adorable than a handsome man with a couple of beautiful children?

            Especially when they were your children.

            And his, too.

            Eventually he managed to climb out from under the kids and stand up, and he looked back at her.

            "You okay?"

            She nodded mutely.

            "You look kind of..."

            But he never got to finish, because Buffy raced over and threw herself at him, much like Alice had only a bit heavier, and he caught her as she wrapped her arms tight around his neck and breathed against his skin, "_So_ glad you're home."

            He prised her away a little, holding her back far enough to be able to kiss her, drinking her in, his Buffy, his wonderful Buffy.  He kissed her for a long time, thinking he might stop when he got bored, only he never got bored, this was Buffy.

            She ran her fingers through his hair, and moved away, making a face.  "Someone needs a shower."

            He made a face back.  "I have been on three planes, four buses, two trains-"

            "And a partridge in a pear tree?" Buffy said, making Alice giggle.

            "Bloody feels like it.  I am _knackered_."

            He could tell Buffy was pleased to see him: she didn't scold him for swearing in front of the children.

            "What do you want to do first: eat, sleep, or shower?"

            His eyes danced, and Buffy blushed.  She knew damn well what he wanted to do first, and she wanted it too.  But it was hours until the children would even consider going to bed; it was still light; he looked exhausted.

            "Shower," she decided for him.  "And I'll get some food sorted.  What do you fancy?"

            He caught her close and whispered, "You," in her ear, and when she bashed at him, let her go, grinning.  "Wings," he said.  "Spicy, greasy chicken wings.  I have been _dreaming_ about wings."

            "Just wings?" Buffy asked, her eyes glinting.  "I'll go out and get some-"

            "No, you're not leaving my sight."

            "Then how am I supposed to get the wings?"

            He looked sulky.  "I'll come with you.  We'll all go-"

            "You're not going anywhere," Buffy said, in the tone she used with the children when they wanted something unreasonable.  "You are going to take a shower, mister, or the good people at KFC will think you're a hobo."

            "Hobo," Will repeated, and laughed.  "Daddy, what'd you bring us?"

            "Bring you?"  Spike frowned.  "Was I supposed to bring you something?"

            Buffy stared at him, almost as hurt as the children, who looked like they were about to start crying.

            "Oh, come on, do you really think I'm that bad a father?" He rolled his eyes.  "Sit down and be quiet and I'll give you your presents."

            They cheered up instantly.  Buffy went outside to collect her shopping and Will's forgotten party bag, and when she came back in Spike was presenting the children with all sorts of brightly wrapped, tacky things, which they fell upon with glee.  Once upon a time Buffy had tried to buy them nice, solid, lasting things, but they'd been totally uninterested.  Will's favourite toy was a plastic castle manned with dozens of tiny soldiers, and Alice was inseparable from her stuffed cat.  Both had cost less than $20.

            He left them eating sweets they could have bought three streets away, but were so much more exciting because they were _foreign_, and came back to Buffy, who was sitting on the floor, watching as Alice played with a brightly coloured doll and Will made mountains of tiny coloured sweets.

            "I called Dawn," Buffy said.  "She was going to come over anyway for a vid night-"

            "She can come anyway," Spike said generously.  "I fancy seeing the niblet."

            Buffy raised her eyebrows.  "Good, because she's bringing the chicken wings."  She patted his cheek.  "Go and take a shower," she said, "you'll appal her."

            "She's a student," Spike said, rolling his eyes, but he headed for the stairs, shedding his leather duster as he went.

            Dawn left her sorority house, keys in hand, and almost walked straight into a very big, tall man wearing jeans and a scowl.

            "Oh, sorry - wait, Riley?"

            He stared down at her.  "Dawn?  Wow, look at you!  All grown up."

            "Please," Dawn said, "I've been grown up for years.  Since you were last around, anyway."

            Riley looked her over.  No.  Last time he'd been around, Dawn was still firmly in the little girl category.  Now she was in the hot woman category.  How had that happened?

            "What are you doing here?" Dawn asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

            "A friend of mine is engaged to a girl in Eta Beta Pi," he said.  "I'm going for dinner."  Politeness made him add, "You want to come with?"

            "No, I have plans.  Going to Buffy's house."

            "Yeah?  I saw her earlier at the mall.  She looks great."

            "I know, that new haircut really - that's not what you meant," Dawn grinned.

            "I mean, to say she's bringing up those two kids alone..."

            "Well, not now she's not."

            Riley stared at her a second or two.  Did she meant what he thought she meant?

            "Uh-"

            "I mean, not that she was.  It's just Spike's away so often - or at least, it feels like it.  He came home today," she added by way of explanation, seeing him look confused.

            "He came home?" Riley repeated slowly.

            "Yep.  From Cambodia or somewhere.  Or Columbia...?  I can't remember.  Anyway.  Buffy always gets all happy when he comes back.  When Will was a baby sometimes she'd go with him, but now he's at school and Alice has kindergarten and they can't just keep running all over the place, so at least his trips are shorter..."

            Realising she was rambling, Dawn stopped.  "Anyway.  I have to go.  Picking up dinner," she waved her car keys.  "I'll see you around, Riley," and she gave him a bit of a hug before turning and walking over to her little car.

            Riley stood for a while on the steps of the sorority house, gobsmacked.  Buffy was still with Spike?  He came home to her and she _welcomed_ it?

            It was worse than he'd thought.

            Dawn bought more food than some small countries ate in a week, and parked up outside Spike and Buffy's house.  After the fire in Ravello Drive they'd lived out of hotels for a while, until Buffy had fallen in love with this pretty little place with its own enclosed back garden and a big porch all the way around.

            She pushed open the unlocked door and waved hi to her niece and nephew as she went through to the kitchen, handing Buffy the bags of food and holding up a little black dress: "Thanks for letting me borrow it."

            Buffy looked up from where she was making drinks for the kids and grinned.  "Did he like it?"

            "Oh, he liked it."  Dawn's eyes misted over.  "I had it cleaned."

            "I don't want to know why.  Could you take it up for me?  I don't want to get barbecue sauce on it."

            "Sure."  Dawn went back out to the hall and up the stairs, hung the dress in Buffy's wardrobe, and came out just in time to nearly walk into her second handsome man of the evening.

            The difference was that Spike was wearing a towel and some water and not a lot else.

            Dawn swallowed.  Normal procedure would have been to hug him hello, but somehow she figured that wouldn't be appropriate right now.  She gave him a little wave, and tried not to get too close.

            "All right, niblet?"

            She nodded and tried not to blush.  All right, so maybe she still had a residual crush on Spike.  Who wouldn't?  And did he have to stand there wearing almost _nothing_?

            "Good trip?"

            He shrugged.  "Not bad.  Got something for you - s'downstairs."

            Dawn beamed like one of the children at the idea of a present.  "Ooh!  Gonna go have a look."

            His laugh followed her down the hall.

            She found Buffy and the kids nestled on the sofa, watching M*A*S*H while they waited for Spike to argue over what video they were going to watch.  Dawn almost sat down next to her sister, then changed her mind and took the chair instead, leaving space for Spike next to Buffy.

            "Spike," Buffy yelled, her eyes sill on the screen.  "We've eaten your dinner."

            He yelled something back that was thankfully unintelligible, and emerged a few seconds later, looking almost normal in jeans and a sweater.  Dawn had long ago realised that Spike really only did the black thing for show: and besides, Buffy had been sneaking nice things into his wardrobe for ages.

            They squabbled over the video, the kids won their choice and ten minutes in, Buffy chucked a bit of popcorn at her sister and then pointed to Spike.

            He was asleep, the children curled up on either side of him, a perfect blond tableau.  Dawn made an 'aww' face.

            "He showers, he eats, he sleeps," Buffy shook her head.  She glanced back at the screen where cartoon dogs were singing to each other.  "You want to watch this?"

            "God, no."

            Buffy grinned and picked up the control.  "Right, 90210 it is, then."

            A couple of hours later, Dawn yawned and stretched and kissed her sister goodbye and drove home in the dark.  Buffy switched off the TV, cleaned away the remnants of their takeaway dinner, picked up Alice who was closest, and carried her upstairs to bed.  The little girl didn't wake up as Buffy changed her into Barbie pyjamas, kissed her cheek, and went downstairs to get Will and do the same for him.

            He was heavier than his sister - had he always been so heavy? - and he woke up when she started undressing him.  He even offered to clean his teeth, which made Buffy proud.  She put him in his Spiderman PJs and tucked him in and set the nightlight, then she went to her own room and got ready for bed.

            Then she went back downstairs, where Spike was still asleep, looking beautiful in the semi-darkness of the room, and stood and looked at him for a while.  There was a mark on his face, a faded scar, puckered pink skin that ran in a line over one high cheekbone.  Fire.  He seemed to attract it.

            Then again, he _was_ really hot...

            She crawled onto the sofa beside him and kissed the mark.  He stirred, reached out and pulled her into his arms like a child with a teddy bear.  Buffy rolled her eyes.

            "Spike, honey," she said, "don't you want to come to bed?"

            His eyes fluttered open at the magic word, and she sucked in a breath, once more shocked at how blue they were.

            "Bed?"

            "Yes, love.  Nice soft, warm bed..."

            "With a nice soft, warm Buffy?"

            She laughed.  "If you play your cards right."

            He cupped the back of her head and kissed her, softly and beautifully, and Buffy knew he didn't have to play anything at all to get her.

            It had been weeks, bloody weeks, and she was desperate for him.  She'd have had him right there on the sofa if it hadn't been for the collected debris of Will's party bag and Spike's presents digging into her hip.

            "Bed," she said, and he nodded and stood up with her still in his arms.  Buffy laughed and hung on as he carried her up the stairs and laid her gently down on the bed.

            "And now I'm bloody knackered," he said, and she smiled and crooked her finger at him and when he came closer, she stripped off his sweater and pressed her face to the smooth, hard muscle of his stomach.

            "And suddenly feeling less tired," Spike said thoughtfully, as Buffy started licking his skin.  He unfastened his jeans, kicked them off, and then started peeling away Buffy's Yummi Sushi! pyjamas.  She touched his legs, scarred harder by the fire, and loved him for the imperfection.  He'd got those scars saving Will's life.

            Naked, they rolled together under the covers, touching and stroking all over.  He felt so good, so warm and hard and heavy and right, perfect in her arms, and Buffy pressed herself closer as he started kissing her neck, across her shoulder, down to her breast.  She let out a happy little moan and arched against him as he sucked gently on her nipple, teasing with his teeth.  His hand slipped down over the curve of her hip, caressed her thigh then slid between her legs, stroking her until she moaned harder.

            And then she shrieked.

            "Okay, I know it's been a while, love," Spike said, but she grabbed his hand and his head and snatched them away from where they'd been and said loudly, "Will!  What is it?"

            As if he'd been shocked, Spike sprang away from her to stare guiltily at his son, who stood there in his pyjamas, clutching a teddy, looking nervous.

            "There's something under my bed," he whispered.

            "Oh, honey," Buffy said.

            "Can I sleep with you?"

            "How about," Spike leapt at the edge of the bed, realised he was naked, and scrabbled for pyjamas, making Buffy shake with laughter, "I come and see what's under there and then you can go back in your own room?"

            He pulled on pyjama bottoms - seldom worn but kept for this very purpose - and left the room, going next door and poking about under Will's bed, calling, "Hey, monsters, come out.  Big ol' Spikey's gonna getcha!"

            "'Cos that'll have them coming out in their droves," Buffy shook her head, trying to pull her own pyjamas on without catching Will's attention.

            "Can I sleep here with you?" he repeated in a little whisper, and she held out her arms.

            "Of course you can.  Up you come," she lifted him into bed and waited for Spike to come back.

            He did, towing Alice with him, giving Buffy a long-suffering look.  "There was something under her bed too," he said heavily, and swung her up next to Will.  "You both sleep here, between your mummy and me, so I don't get any ideas," he flashed a look at Buffy, who gave him a rueful smile.

            He got back into bed, and Alice snuggled up against him, warm and small and sweet, and he put his arms around her.

            "Don't go away again, Daddy."

            He kissed her hair and held her close.  "I'm not going anywhere, love."

  



	2. Chapter Two

_AN: Okay, I accidentally posted a bit of this on the end of the first chapter.  I removed it when I realised my mistake but it was still there for a day or so.  So if you recognise the first part of this chapter, that's why!_

Chapter Two

            When Buffy's alarm rang in the morning, her first thought was, Damn, I wish Spike was here.

            Then she opened her eyes and he was there, inhumanly beautiful even when he slept, Alice curled against him, looking picture perfect.

            She shook Will awake and left Spike and Alice asleep while she got Will ready for school.  When she came home, Alice was watching TV in her pyjamas, a glass of milk in her hand.  Spike was nowhere to be seen.

            "He's still asleep," Alice said, and wrinkled her nose.  "Daddy sleeps for hours."

            "When he gets the chance," Buffy said.  "Come on, time for you to get dressed."

            Alice went to pre-school most days, for either a morning or afternoon.  By the time Buffy had finished doing the laundry and cleaning up the kitchen, which was full of last night's debris, it was time to take her daughter in for the afternoon.

            Spike was still asleep.

            She got home, checked again, and this time made sure he was still breathing.  Yep, and his pulse was fine too.  Maybe he was in a coma.

            She took the morning papers out to the garden with some lunch, and stretched out in the sun.

            "Honestly," said a voice an hour later, "is this all you do all day?"

            Buffy slowly put down her drink, folded the papers, and when she turned back to the house her expression was carefully controlled.

            "I have made breakfast for two children, lunch for myself, cleaned the kitchen, done your laundry, and taken the kids to school," she said.  "Tell me how productive your morning has been?"

            Spike came down the porch steps into the sunlight.  He was wearing jeans, and nothing else.

            "I thought about you," he said.

            Buffy raised an eyebrow.

            "Okay, dreamed.  They were very hot dreams," he said, coming closer and looking at her with big blue eyes.  His lower lip was all pouty: biteable.  Soft and delicious-looking.

            Buffy had no idea she'd even stood up until she took that lip between her teeth and gently bit it.  Spike groaned and his arms went around her and he whispered in her ear, "So the kids are both at school, right?"

            "Mmm."

            "And the house will be empty for a good couple of hours?"

            "Well-"

            "And in fact, so will the garden?"

            His hands were slipping under the waistband of her jeans, sliding the zipper down, wandering inside.  Buffy sucked in a breath.

            "Neighbours," she said.

            "Australian soap?"

            "No, looking at us."  She pulled away and called, "Nice day, Mrs Johannsen," and tugged Spike inside.  He was laughing.

            "Bet that's the best thrill she's had all year."

            Buffy looked at his hot, hard, semi-naked body, and corrected, "Her whole life."

            Spike grinned and licked her ear.  "And you?"

            "Best thrill I've had since... Oh, last time we did it in the garden."

            Spike grinned, and kissed her, softly at first, and then with growing urgency.  Buffy tugged him towards the stairs, stopping every few steps for more kisses, or to take off a bit of clothing.  Thank God they lived an California and never needed to wear much!

            By the time they hit the stairs Buffy's shirt was hanging off one arm and her shoes were in the living room somewhere.  Her skirt was hitched up around her waist and Spike's hands were delving inside her knickers.

            She tried to remember why she'd been going upstairs, but her brain had stopped working and the only thing that came to mind was: Spike!  Hot Spike!  Hard Spike!  Want hot hard Spike now!

            She pulled him down on the stairs and Spike, never one to quibble over location as long as there was naked Buffy involved, happily went down with her, unfastening the front clasp of her bra as he did.  God bless the man - or woman - who'd invented the front fastener.

            He licked her breasts, flicked one rosy nipple, and Buffy moaned.

            "Oh God, Spike, I want you now..."

            He looked up at her, his eyes dark and his lips bruised, and Buffy nearly came on the spot.  She grabbed him to her for another kiss, her hands sliding all over those delicious hard muscles of his, pulling him a little bit closer, unfastening the straining zip on his jeans and closing her fingers around him.

            Spike pulled back, sucking in a breath.

            "Do you _want_ this to be over in seconds?"

            Buffy bit her lip and stroked him with her thumb.

            "Jesus Christ, Buffy, I'm not Superman," he wrenched her hand away, and she gave him puppy-dog eyes.  "I want this to last.  I've been dreaming about it for bloody _weeks_."

            He took both her hands in his and held them above her head, kissing her bare neck, making her arch against him.  She ran her foot up his bare back, and when he moved down her body, she found her leg wrapped around his shoulders.

            "Gonna get my own back," Spike murmured, his breath hot on her thigh, and then he licked into her, and Buffy let out an incoherent cry of pleasure.  He'd always been so good at this, so naturally skilled.  He was born to do it.  She writhed under his hot lips and athletic tongue, her wrists still held by him, down at one side.  She was trapped by her husband and he was torturing her: teasing her with indescribably pleasure, then stopping, then starting again, then stopping, until she was ready to scream.

            "Oh God, _please_," she begged, hips bucking, heel digging into his back.  "Spike, please..."

            "Please what?" He was breathing raggedly.

            "Don't stop... make me..."

            "Make you come?"

            "_Yes_."

            "You want me to lick you out?"

            "_Yes_.  God, Spike, I'm nearly _there_...."

            "Nearly where?"

            At that she snapped, and wrenched her wrists from his grasp.  She grabbed his platinum head and forced him to look at her.  He was smirking smugly.

            "Get down there and make me scream in ecstasy or hurt you so bad you'll never have sex again."

            At that Spike grinned.  "I do love a powerful woman," he sighed, and got back to work.

            This time Buffy held onto him as he licked her, swirled his tongue into her, brought one hand down and stroked as he sucked and licked and made her scream unintelligibly.

            "Ohh God, oh... Unh... You're so... Christ, don't... Unh!  Ahhh!  Aaiiiieeeeee..."

            Someone knocked on the door, but Spike ignored it and Buffy was in no state to pay any attention to visitors.

            Spike slipped two fingers inside her and Buffy's head crashed back against the stairs.  "_Oh my God_!"

            "Buffy?" said someone outside.  "Are you in there?"

            Panting hard, thrusting herself closer to Spike's miraculous mouth, Buffy didn't even hear as the visitor knocked again.

            "Buffy?"

            Spike inserted a third finger.

            "_Oh - my-_"

            The door opened, Spike grazed Buffy's clitoris with his teeth, and she came, screaming like a banshee, convulsing hard around his fingers, against his mouth, pleasure so intense she nearly passed out.

            Xander stood in the doorway with a chair in his hands, staring.

            "I'll just leave this here, shall I?"

            And he was gone, the door slamming shut with a bang that woke Buffy from her semicomatose state.

            "Was that the door?"

            Spike got to his feet, looking very pleased with himself.  "Nothing important," he said, and held out a hand to her.  "Come on."

            Buffy sat up, shakily.  "Not sure if I can move."

            He laughed at that.  "God, I'm good.  Come on, love," and he picked her up, still half dressed with her skirt all crumpled and her bra hanging open.  She nuzzled his neck as he carried her through to the dining room and laid her out on the table.

            "We don't use the bed any more?"

            "Beds are boring," Spike said, shedding his jeans and climbing on top of her.

            "Hey, I thought you were abstaining," Buffy teased, ridding herself of the rest of her clothes.

            "No, I was holding out.  There's a difference."

            He settled in her arms, and both of them closed their eyes for a second at the rightness of it.  "And that would be?"

            "This way, we both get to come."

            "Ah.  I see the wisdom of your ways."

            He slid up into her, and had to concentrate hard on not coming there and then.  She was so wet, so bloody hot, holding him tight and deep inside her.

            Buffy closed her arms around him and kissed his neck.  "What are you waiting for?" she whispered.

            Spike had always been a considerate lover.  Even when he was being brutally rough with her, he always made sure she was enjoying herself.  Not that he had to try very hard.  All he had to do was take his clothes off and she was halfway there.

            And now here he was, moving against her, lifting her legs around his waist, angling his hips against hers, nipping her throat with his teeth, and Buffy couldn't believe how good he felt sliding into her, his body hot and hard against hers.  She arched into him, and he groaned.

            "God, you feel good."

            Buffy grinned wickedly to herself.  "You might do too, if you moved just a _little_ bit harder..."

            Spike looked down at her, hurt disbelief on his face, then he caught the sparkle in her eye and growled, biting into her throat.

            "You want it harder?" he said, and thrust in so hard Buffy lost her breath.  "Like that?"

            She nodded wordlessly.

            "You want me hard..."

            "Deeper..."

            "Like that?"

            "Oh, Christ..."

            Before long he was pounding into her with such vigour the table was rocking.  Buffy dug her nails into his back and whispered, "Harder, faster, deeper," in Spike's ear, and he thrust so hard it almost hurt, in the very best of ways.

            "Come on," she encouraged, "I'm nearly there..."

            "Again?"

            "What can I say?" Buffy panted.  "You're good."

            "Yeah?"  Spike slipped a hand down between them and fondled her clitoris.

            Buffy's eyes rolled back in her head.

            "You're very, very - oh, _God_..."

            Spike smiled a little self-satisfied smile and bit down on Buffy's lower lip.

            "God Spike, harder, just - _yes_, oh God, harder, _hard_... _Spike, fuck me_!"

            And Spike did, so hard the table wobbled and lost balance and splintered and broke and they crashed to the floor in a heap of broken wood, neither of them noticing because they both came so hard at the same time that they screamed over the sound of the broken table and lay there, hot and tangled and both barely conscious.

            Spike came back to earth first, and he started laughing.

            "What?" Buffy said drowsily.

            "Missed you," he kissed her neck, and she smiled, making an attempt to put her arms around him and failing because she'd absolutely no energy left at all.

            "We're going to need a new table."

            "Sod the table," Spike stretched above her, and Buffy lost interest in it as his body slid against hers and reminded her what a good time she'd just had.

            They lay together for a while, breathing hard, moving little, enjoying being together again.

            "Next time, don't go away so long," Buffy bashed Spike's back lightly.

            "Hey, I wasn't planning on it being so long this time," he said.  "I wanted to get those Lempickas for you."

            This roused Buffy a bit more.  "Did you?"

            He nodded.  "All three."

            She frowned a little.  "Legally?"

            "Of course legally!  I've got the sodding receipts if you don't trust me."

            She kissed his nose.  "Of course I trust you."  She wrapped her arms around him and held him close.  "How'd you pay for them?"

            Spike looked a little sheepish.  "Um, did you hear about a mosque fire in Dubai?"

            Buffy narrowed her eyes.  "Yes..."

            "Well, that wasn't me."

            "So...?"

            "Mine was a temple in Cambodia."

            "You knocked off a temple in Cambodia?"

            "Well, it wasn't a current temple.  I mean, there was no one worshipping there.  Getting hurt or anything."

            "You didn't kill anyone?"

            "No.  In fact, I saved a child's life."

            "From the fire you'd started."

            Spike made a face and started to move away.  "I knew you'd have a go over this..."

            Buffy pulled him back.  "What'd you steal?"

            "Just a few bits and bobs.  Place was mostly derelict anyway.  Tomb robbers'd been through there anyway."

            "Tomb robbers?  Spike, you went grave robbing?"

            "There you go, getting all angry with me.  Got you those Lempickas, didn't I?"

            Buffy frowned at him, but he was right.  She could display the paintings for months before she finally sold them off.  People would pay to see them.  Tamara de Lempicka was worth something.

            "I'm not getting angry with you," she said.  "It's kinda sexy, the whole tomb raider thing."

            "If it's good enough for Lara Croft..."

            "Who is made out of pixels," Buffy reminded him.

            "Don't I get a reward?" Spike pouted.

            "Only if you ask nicely."

            He grinned and started nibbling on her earlobe, and Buffy started to roll him onto his back.

            Then she stopped, wincing.  "Ow!"

            "You all right, pet?"

            "Ow!  No!  God, lying on a heap of broken wood is bloody painful."

            Spike rolled off her, making a face as his bare back hit the broken wood.  And he'd been pounding Buffy into that.

            "Why didn't you say something?"

            "I was sort of... otherwise occupied."

            He couldn't help a smirk at that as he stood and held out a hand to her.  She took it and stretched, grumbling.

            "That's what beds are for."

            "Okay, we'll go to bed."

            He started walking backwards, pulling Buffy after him, his smile promising all sorts of dirty things, when she suddenly stopped and stared, horrified.

            "What?"

            "Kids!"

            Spike looked around in alarm.  "Kids?"

            "You know," Buffy let go of his hands and started looking for her clothes, "little people who cost us so much money?"

            "I know who they are, pet," Spike looked behind him to see that had jolted Buffy.  The clock.  He sighed.  "Pick-up time?"

            "Pick-up time."  Buffy frowned at the clock.  "I'm late already... If I go get Alice first then the traffic going for Will'll be awful..."

            "So get Will first."

            "I don't want to leave Alice.  She doesn't know everyone there yet."

            "Well, you get Will and I'll get Alice."

            "You know where it is?"

            Spike shrugged, picking up his jeans.  "Fourth Street Nursery, right?  How hard can that be to find?"

            Buffy threw her arms around him.  "You're the best.  I love you."

            He smiled.  "Love you too, pet.  Right.  Where's her car seat?"

_            All right, it's a really short chapter.  But a certain person - naming no names - has been heckling me for more and if I don't give her some before I go away she'll come round to my house and scythe me to death..._


	3. Chapter Three

            _Woah__, that__ was the longest break ever.  Sorry.  I had some actual work to do.  Don't worry, it doesn't happen often..._

Chapter Three

            When Buffy had finally given Spike an ultimatum: get rid of the car or get rid of me and the kids, he'd reluctantly sold the DeSoto.  Buffy had a boring Mom-van that Spike couldn't get in without hiding under his leather jacket - which didn't make for very safe driving - so he'd gone out looking for his own car.

            Buffy didn't quite approve of his choice, but after he'd seduced her a couple of times in the back, she was starting to come around.  "It's not very practical," she'd say, and he'd take his shirt off.  "And it's waay too fast," and he'd take her shirt off.  "And one of these days someone's going to steal it," and he'd slide his tongue into her bra.  "And you can't fit a car seat into the-" he'd slip his fingers inside her knickers, "-back of it, the seats are too... God, _Spike_..."

            After a while, Buffy stopped complaining about the car, and once or twice Spike had even found her curled up on the back seat in her underwear, waiting for him.

            The memory made him smile as he purred to a halt outside Alice's kindergarten.  He'd picked the car that best matched his self-image; always had.  Back in the day it had been the DeSoto: rough around the edges but you knew you were going to have fun, even if there was a strong possibility of death involved.  And now he had his Aston Martin: expensive, sleek, powerful and so explosively sexual that grown women had been known to pass out at the sight of it.

            He got out, ran a hand through his hair, and smirked at the gawping mothers in their SUVs.

            Inside, there was only Alice and a couple of other kids waiting with the teacher.  Spike ignored the soccer-mom trying to attract his attention and strode over to his little girl, who squealed with delight when he swung her up in the air.

            "Daddy!  You woke up."

            He laughed.  "Yeah, sweetheart, I did."

            "Where's Mommy?"

            "Gone to pick Will up.  Hey, you want me to call her and we'll meet them in town for ice cream?"

            Alice nodded enthusiastically, and Spike put her down and got out his phone.  But he was halted by the teacher, who waved for his attention.

            "You're Alice's father?"

            He nodded proudly.  "Sure am."

            "She talks about you a lot.  Seems to think you're some sort of Indiana Jones hero."  The teacher, a young African American man, smiled at him.  Spike smiled back.

            "I'm an art dealer," he said.  "I travel a lot."

            "Yes, and I'm slightly worried about that.  Children Alice's age need a lot of stability - they need their parents to be the same from one day to the next."

            "I am the same," Spike said, slightly annoyed.

            "Yes, but you're frequently absent.  The other children have fathers and stepfathers who they see every day-"

            "The hell they do.  Half of them never see their fathers at all."

            "Yes, but that's a state that never varies.  The other thing that concerns me is, well..." the teacher sighed.  "Alice has made pictures of you," he said, and took a few out of a folder on his desk.  Spike looked through at them, grinning.

            "Hey.  Kid's got talent," he beamed at Alice, who giggled shyly and hid behind his legs.

            "At first I thought she was being over-imaginative," the teacher said.  "But now I see she has a remarkable eye for detail..."

            His gaze travelled over Spike's leather duster, platinum hair and biker boots; the silver chain at his neck and the rings on his fingers.

            "She draws many pictures of you killing people," the teacher went on, when Spike didn't seem to be fazed by his visual examination.

            "Oh, hey, come on, Alice, I don't kill people," he said, frowning at his daughter, who pouted in return.

            "Mommy said you killed Glory."

            "Glory killed herself.  I just... helped her a bit.  And it was her fault, she was trying to kill me and your brother."

            "And that bad man in England..."

            "Angel?  He was wanted by about thirty worldwide governments, sweetheart, I was doing people a favour."

            The teacher was frowning at this.  "The other parents have expressed discomfort at their children being in a class with a murderer," he said.

            Spike rolled his eyes.  "I'm not a sodding murderer," he said.  "I don't kill people for fun."  Well, not any more, he added to himself.  "If I was a cop, would there be a problem?  No.  If I was in the army, would there be a problem?  Just 'cos I've occasionally had cause to use lethal blows in the course of self-defence doesn't mean I make a habit of killing innocent people.  'Sides," he added, picking Alice up again, "I'd never, ever hurt a child.  Not now I've got my own, and not before that, either.  I bloody saved a kid's life the other day, you know.  If you're going to go around accusing an innocent bloke of evil things, then I'm not sure I want you in charge of my little girl," he finished, and walked out, carrying Alice with him.

            He put her in the car, fastened her into her car seat, and roared off.  That was another good thing about the Aston: it made such a satisfyingly angry sound.

            "Daddy?" Alice said, before he got around to putting the Sex Pistols on (something he'd made Alice swear to tell her mother he never did).  "Why were you shouting at Mr. Wood?"

            "Because he was pissing me off."

            "I like him."

            "I know you do, love," Spike said, softening.  "And your mum does too, so he can't be that bad.  Not that she's the best judge of character," he added under his breath, thinking of her last boyfriend, twat-of-the-century Riley Finn.  "I was just angry, that's all."

            "Why?"

            "Because he was trying to say I'm not a good dad to you."

            "Why?"

            "Because I dress differently and I do different things."

            "Mommy's different too.  She says all the other mommies are brain-dead Martha Stewarts."

            Spike cracked a grin.  "Well, she's right."

            "What's a brain-dead Martha Stewart?"

            At that he laughed.  "Someone the opposite of your mum."

            He set his mobile into the car phone cradle - so maybe he occasionally didn't bother, but when he had one of his children in the car, safety was extremely important - and dialled Buffy's number.  "Where are you?"

            "Just come out of school.  Why?"

            "I promised Alice some ice cream.  Wanna meet up at the Espresso Pump?"

            He parked the Aston at the kerb, ignoring the signs that told him not to, and took Alice inside.  She picked out a triple chocolate fudge sundae he knew she'd eat about three spoonfuls of, so he got some coffee for himself and a second spoon for Alice's sundae.

            Buffy turned up five minutes later, Will in tow, and got herself some coffee.  Then she looked at her husband's face, and ordered him a large hot chocolate with whipped cream.  And marshmallows.

            "Okay, what's up?"

            He stirred the cream into the chocolate.  "Am I an absentee father?"

            Buffy considered this.  "Yes.  Why do you ask?"

            "I'm not, am I?" Spike said, looking hurt.

            "Well, you're hardly here.  You turn up occasionally, lavish gifts on the children and extravagant sex on me, and then you go away again to risk your life for some stupid piece of art.  Does that answer your question?"

            She saw his lip go pouty.  He was sulking.

            "Spike," she said, more gently.  "Listen.  I'm not mad at you.  I mean, I wish things could be different, but I know you.  You're not the sitting at home type."

            "Time was, neither were you."

            Buffy glanced at Will and Alice, who were playing violently on the floor.  "Yes, well, I had to change."

            He looked mournful.  "So you did," he said, and wouldn't say any more on the subject.

            Thankfully right then Anya walked in, wandered up to the counter and ordered one cup of takeaway coffee, and one cup of hot chocolate with lemon juice and cappuccino foam.

            Buffy grinned and waved her over.  "Cravings again?"

            "I don't know what it is.  I just can't eat normal things any more."

            "Could be something to do with that baby you're having," Spike observed, and Anya made a face.

            "I'm bored with being pregnant now.  How do you make it stop?"

            "Generally you wait another three months and then give birth," Buffy said.

            "Can't I make it stop now?"  Anya collected her drinks and glanced at the children on the floor.  "What are you doing?"

            "We're playing Eowyn and the Witch King," Will informed her.  "I'm the Witch King."

            "I'm Eowyn," Alice said proudly, and charged at her brother, shoving him to the floor.

            "Excellent," Anya said, beaming at them.  "Play on.  Buffy, Spike, can I borrow them?"

            "What?"

            "Can I borrow them.  Your children," Anya explained patiently, as if this was normal.  "Xander wants to practice parenthood again."

            Spike hid his smile in his hot chocolate.  Buffy said, "Sure, but Will's going to a friend's tonight."

            "He is?" Spike said.  "Who?"

            "Tony.  They play soccer together."

            Spike opened his mouth to say that he had never heard of any kid called Tony, and since when had Will played soccer?  But then he realised that to do so would just compound his problems.

            "I'll take Alice then.  I'll send Xander over to pick her up about seven?"  Anya said, and Buffy nodded.

            "Sure.  Looks like we get a night to ourselves," Buffy winked at Spike.

            "Okay," Anya said on her way out, and added brightly, "but please don't start having sex until after Xander's gone.  He's still traumatised from last time he saw you boinking."

            Buffy froze.  Spike winced.

            "He what?" Buffy managed.

            "When he brought the chair back this afternoon.  He opened the door and Spike was giving you oral sex on the stairs," Anya said, as if reporting the contents of the six o'clock news.  "He walked into the shop completely dazed.  And quite turned on.  Actually he got me to-"

            "I'll pay you to stop there," Spike said.

            "How much?" Anya looked interested.

            "One free evening of my daughter's company.  We'll see you later," he said firmly, and Anya, wrinkling her nose, left with her drinks.  "Buffy, love?"

            "What's oral sex?" Alice wanted to know.

            "It's a kind of sweetie," Spike told her.  "Very good to eat."

            "Can I have some?"

            "No!" both her parents yelled.  "It's only for grown-ups," Spike added hurriedly, before turning to his wife and asking, "You okay, pet?"

            "Did you know he was there?"

            "I, er," Spike debated telling her he'd been fully aware of Xander opening the door, although he'd still had his back turned.  "I didn't see him, no," he said carefully.

            Buffy was crimson, hiding her head in her hands.  "Oh God.  I can't believe he saw us.  I mean - oh _God_!"

            "It's not as if he thought you were a virgin, love," Spike said drily.

            "I know, but - I did not need him to see me - to see us - oh, God!"

            "Is this going to go on?" Spike asked.  "Should I get another drink?"

            "You cheered up," Buffy said.  "Aren't you in the least embarrassed?"

            "That another bloke saw me getting you off?  Not really.  Badge of pride and all that.  Come on, love.  It's not that bad."

            "It totally is," Buffy groaned, and it took about twenty minutes for him to persuade her to show her face again.

            The children, blissfully ignorant of their mother's embarrassment, whined boredly to go home so they set off in convoy - Spike and Alice arriving ten minutes ahead of Buffy and Will, whose SUV got ignored at every turning - and Spike stood back and watched Buffy go through her after school routines.  First the kid's bags were emptied - this had become a daily habit after she found a three-week-old apple in Will's rucksack - and lunchboxes were rinsed out.  Then the kids changed out of their school clothes, and Buffy packed an overnight bag for each of them, fetching sleeping bags and spare pillows from the attic, making sure that favourite cuddly toys were safely packed, and that Alice's favourite mug - the only one she'd currently drink out of - had been added to her luggage.

            Then she made the kids' dinner while they watched TV, and Spike cornered her by the microwave and said, "How do you do all this?"

            "What do you mean, how?"

            "I mean, this is your day off, right?  You've spent all of it looking after the kids."

            "It's not my sole day off," Buffy said.  "I usually go in when Alice is at kindergarten.  I just figured it might be nice to spend some time with you."

            He sighed, and let her go to the stove.  "That's just it though, isn't it?  Spending time with me?  I'm never here."

            "You're here enough."

            "Don't sound too happy about it."

            Buffy glanced at him, and saw the set of his jaw.  She turned off the heat under the oil she was heating for an omelette and came over to him, slipping her arms about his waist.

            "I'm not happy about it," she said.  "I wish you were here more.  I wish you never left my sight.  But... if we spent every hour of every day together, we'd kill each other.  Life is about unfulfilled dreams - if you get what you want, you'll only want more.  I figure not having you here all the time is price enough for having you at all."

            Spike felt his arms slide around her shoulders without his permission.  "So if I was here more...?"

            "I'd be happy," Buffy said.  "I love you, remember?"  She kissed his neck.  "Why?  Are you planning on leaving less?"

            "Yeah.  Figure it's time I stopped missing out on things."

            "Well, good," Buffy said, "'cos that whole unfulfilled wish thing was just a smokescreen.  I don't know what I'd do if you were here any less."

            He drew her in for a kiss and she melted into it, only breaking away when Will sighed behind her and said, "Mom, I'm hungry!"

            She made the kid's tea and curled up with Spike on the sofa to watch the end of whichever Star Trek her offspring were currently obsessed with.  Then she got Will into his coat and shoes and drove him over to his friend's house, coming back just in time to see Xander's car pull up in the driveway.

            I can do this, she told herself, parking beside his Explorer.  I can look him in the eye and pretend nothing happened.

            "What did you make Anya do?" Spike asked Xander as Buffy walked in, and she made an about-turn and ran outside to mess around with her daughter's car seat.  When she came in they were talking about football, and she managed to give Xander a hasty smile before rushing up the stairs - oh God, the stairs! - to get Alice's bag.

            "Uh, here you go," she handed him the bag and pillow and stood hugging the sleeping bag, trying not to look at him.  "Oh!  Guess who I saw yesterday?"

            "Uh who?"  Xander wasn't looking at her either.  Spike as leaning against the banister, looking very amused.

            "Riley!"

            Spike's expression of amusement vanished.  "Captain Cardboard?  You never said."

            "I sort of had other things on my mind," Buffy said, and there was a bit of a silence.

            "So what's he doing back in Sunny D?" Xander asked.

            "Oh, friend of his is getting married - Graham?  To someone at Sunn7ydale U, I should ask Dawn if she knows her..."

            "Or him," Spike muttered.  "Just sayin'."

            "Yeah.  Well.  You ask her," Xander said, and took the sleeping bag, and smiled at Alice.  "Let's go!" he said, and did, all without looking at Buffy.  On his way out he asked, "What happened to your table?"

            They all looked at the pile of broken wood.

            "Termites," Spike said.  "You'd better be going, mate."

            Buffy gave Alice a hug and a kiss, and Spike did the same, then they watched Xander fasten her into his car and drive away, and Buffy shut the door with her eyes closed.

            "I can't believe he saw us."

            Spike backed her against the door.  "Come on.  You used to love doing it in public places."

            "But I don't love my friends seeing me getting..." Buffy couldn't quite bring herself to say it.

            "Getting licked out?  Getting turned on?  Getting your brains fucked out by the man you love?"

            Apparently Spike could.

            "It's just icky," Buffy said.  "It makes me feel all... itchy."

            "Itchy?"

            "Yeah," Buffy said, and looked up into his eyes, which were less cerulean than dark midnight right now.  He was awfully close.

            They were all alone.

            She reached out and turned the key in the door.

            "Itchy," she said, "and kinda hot."  She blinked up at him.  "Do I look hot to you?"

            Spike took a deep breath.  "Always."

            Buffy bit her lip and tried not to grin.  "You better feel me to make sure."

            He laughed.  "That's the worst line I've ever-"

            Buffy rolled her eyes as his hand slid over her hip.  "Works, doesn't it?"

            He kissed her, pinning her back against the door, and Buffy let herself slide against him.

            "We did the table," she said.

            "We did the stairs..."

            "You know," Buffy said, "if you expect me to get any closer to you, you're going to have to take a shower.  'Cos you never did this afternoon."

            Spike grinned.  "Shower it is then," he said, and took her by the hand, pulling her upstairs.  They had their own bathroom now, mercifully free from Nemo toys in the sink and rubber ducks in the bath and suspicious puddles on the floor.  Buffy got out her secret stash of candles and lit them around the bathroom, safe from splashing water behind the shower screen.  Spike came up behind her as she bent over to clear the side of the bath of shampoo bottles, and he felt his erection press against her backside as she straightened up.

            "Mr. Dashwood," she said, "would you be naked?"

            He took her hand and trailed it over his bare hip in reply.

            "No fair," Buffy pouted, "I wanted to undress you."

            She turned in his arms and stepped back a little to look at him.  Breathtaking.  Sometimes she could hardly believe she was married to such a beautiful man.

            In the flickering candlelight he looked like a god - an ancient warrior, scarred from battle, all the more worthy for it.  Buffy slid her palms over his chest, down his hard stomach, to his prominent hipbones and surprisingly soft thighs.  She pressed her body against his.

            "Undress me?"

            His eyes got a little darker and he kissed her, slipping his hands under her shirt and fondling her breasts before unfastening the buttons and letting the garment drop to the floor.  Her skirt came next, and then she stood in just her bra, while Spike caught his breath.

            "Have you been knickerless all afternoon?"

            Buffy bit her lip.

            "At the Espresso Pump and everything?"

            "Well," she traced a finger over his collarbone, "there sort of wasn't any time to put them on..."

            She looked up at him with big green eyes, and Spike growled and tipped her back against the edge of the bath, falling between her knees and licking her, hard.

            "You mean I could have been doing this at any opportunity-?"

            Buffy held onto his shoulders as he licked at her, digging her heel into his back.  Dear God, she could let him do that forever.  But...

            "Weren't we supposed to be having a shower?" she asked, reaching for the showerhead and switching it on, aiming the water at him, and he came up sputtering.

            "What was that for?"

            "Bad Spike," she admonished.  "At least have the manners to take my bra off before you feed your face."

            He complied, under threat of more water, and then picked her up and stood her in the bath, hanging the showerhead back in its place above them.

            Standing naked under the water, he ran his hands over her body.  A little rounder than before, a little softer, and there were some small lines on her stomach that hadn't been there before Will was born.  But she was still his Buffy: more like she was before they met than he was.  He held her to him, her beautiful strong, soft body, and kissed her.  There was mindblowing sex, and then there was the amazing kiss she gave him.  He could kiss her for hours and hours, and if he got the chance often did.

            He dropped his head and kissed her breast, taking one dark pink nipple into his mouth and sucking on it gently.  She moaned slightly and stroked his hair as his hands roamed down her back, cupping her firm little buttocks and kneading gently.

            "Spike," Buffy moaned.  "I want you."

            "Want you too," he said raggedly against her skin.

            "I want you... in my mouth.  Hard, in my mouth."

            He stopped, and looked up at her.  Her eyes were glazed, her hair plastered to her head, and her lips were lush and ripe.

            "What did you say?"

            Buffy put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bath.  This time it was her turn to kneel between his legs and take him in her mouth.  Water poured down on them as she licked and sucked, stroked her hands up his inner thighs and cupped his balls gently in one hand.

            "Oh Christ, Buffy..."

            "Mmm," she said, and her voice vibrated through him.

            "You want me... hard in your... Where did that... come from?  Jesus, you really know how... to take a guy to... full speed... in a few seconds..."

            His voice broke on the last word as she very gently used her teeth on him, and he found himself digging his fingers into her wet hair, moving his hips, thrusting into her mouth.  Her hot, tight, wet mouth-

            "Fuck," Spike gasped, and came.

            Buffy swallowed and looked up at him.  "Told you I wanted you," she said.

            "Jesus," he repeated, leaning back against the cold, damp wall.  His body was shaking.  "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

            Buffy grinned.  "You can tell me again.  Or better yet, you can show me..."

            She looked up at him teasingly, and he groaned.

            "Give me a minute."

            Buffy pouted and picked up the soap from the side of the bath.  She stood up under the water and started rubbing the little bar all over herself - arms, torso, legs, breasts, inner thighs, breasts, backside...

            Spike watched her, this golden goddess under cascading water, rubbing lavender soap over her luscious body, and felt himself getting harder.

            When she dropped the soap and turned around to pick it up, he was there behind her, pinning her against the wall so quickly she gasped.  The tiles were cold against her hard nipples, but Spike's body was hot against her back.  Hot and hard, and getting distinctly harder...

            His mouth descended on her neck, and his hand crept up to cup one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between his fingers.  His other hand slid down between her stomach and the wall and slipped between her legs.  He found her hot and wet for him, and she moaned softly as he started stroking her.

            She moved her hands down and back, over his hips, squeezing his rock-hard buttocks, pulling him against her.  She felt his erection pulse against her backside, hard against her softness, and when it slipped between her buttocks she thought he was going to enter her that way, and she braced herself.

            But he slid in where he should, and Buffy let out the breath she'd been holding.  They'd tried anal sex once or twice and she hadn't disliked it, but it hadn't got her as worked up as proper, regular sex did.

            Not that there was anything regular about sex with Spike.

            He thrust into her, filling her completely, hitting angles he couldn't reach in other positions.  With one hand still firmly fondling her clitoris, he pounded her into the wall so hard her hipbones jarred, but Buffy didn't mind.  In fact, she was rapidly becoming mindless.  He felt so good slamming into her: it was as if this was the first time in weeks, not in hours.  And they had the whole night together.  She was determined to get as much sex as she could.  A minute spent without him inside her in some way, was a minute wasted.

            She felt the tension building, and came a few seconds before he did, flooding hot semen into her.  They'd long since given up on condoms: sex with Spike was so unpredictable that a condom was largely useless.  Buffy was on the pill, and had been for years.

            Not that it had stopped her getting pregnant.  Twice.

            She figured that Spike's sperm was like the rest of him: tremendously strong and not likely to take 'no' for an answer.

            She slumped against the wall, his arm around her, holding her upright.  The water had turned cold at some point but neither of them had noticed.  Spike reached out and turned it off, and in the sudden silence, Buffy became aware that she was panting.

            "So," she said, "what's next?"

            He laughed at that, and slipped out of her, stepping out of the bath and reaching out a hand to steady her when she followed him.

            "Next," he said, and cocked his head, listening.  The phone was ringing out.  "We listen to that message."

            He wandered downstairs naked but Buffy, mindful of the last time she'd appeared in such a state, wrapped her bathrobe around herself before she followed him.  He was in the kitchen, listening to the tail end of a message.  Distracted by his nakedness, Buffy pressed him up against the counter and started kissing his neck.

            "Anything important?"

            He pressed Play again, and Xander's voice filled the room, making her jump.

            "Why is he always-"

            "Shh," Spike said, pushing her away from him.

            "...to come and pick Alice up.  We're at the hospital."  Buffy's eyes flew open wide.  "It's Anya.  Something happened with the baby and... it's not good..."


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four 

The drive to the hospital was silent: both Buffy and Spike vividly remembered when Buffy had nearly miscarried Will after Glory had attacked her. Bleeding and unconscious, she'd been sure she'd lose the baby - and Spike had been sure he'd lose her. 

"Spike," Buffy blurted suddenly as he stopped the car in the hospital car park. "I have to tell you something." 

Alarmed, he frowned at her. "What? Did you leave the oven on?" 

She shook her head. "I - I wanted to tell you before, but... Well, we sort of got... And now isn't the time, but then will be the right time?" 

He raised his eyebrows. "Love, you're babbling." 

She made herself calm down. "I think I'm pregnant again. Whatever kind of Pill they have me on is obviously not working, 'cos I'm two months late... I wanted to tell you as soon as you got home," she added, looking up at him anxiously. His face was hard to read in the darkness. "Spike?" 

"Are you sure?" 

She nodded. "I did a test. I'm going to see the doctor tomorrow." She bit her lip. "Well? Say something?" 

He threw her arms around her and held her tight. "Another baby?" 

"That's usually the end result." 

"Buffy," he started kissing her, "love, that's fantastic." 

Relieved - although she didn't know why, because he'd been overjoyed the last two times she'd told him - Buffy kissed him back, and eventually they pulled apart and Buffy said, "We'd better go see Xander. And don't mention this - it would not be funny." 

She ran to Xander as soon as she saw him and threw her arms around him, all embarassment forgotten. "How is she? What happened?" 

"I don't know," Xander was pale and tense. "She said - it hurt and then she started bleeding and... I don't know," he said in frustration, slamming his fist against the wall. 

Spike bent down and picked up his daughter, who was sitting still, watching them all. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew there was something wrong, and she clung to her father. 

"Have you spoken to the doctor?" Buffy asked. 

"Not yet. They just took her in there," he waved down the corridor, "and I haven't heard anything." 

"She'll be okay," Buffy assured him. "She's strong and healthy. It's probably nothing." 

"Nothing? How can it be nothing?" 

Alice started quietly crying. 

"She's tired," Spike said, "wants to go home." 

Buffy nodded reluctantly. "You want me to stay?" she asked Xander, but he looked over her shoulder and shook his head. 

"No, the girls are here. Thanks, Buff. You take care of Alice." He gave her a brief smile and kissed her cheek, then turned to greet Willow and Tara, who'd just turned up, looking anxious. Willow spoke with Xander, and Tara knelt down to Alice where she was huddled on Spike's lap. 

"What's the matter?" 

"Is Anna going to die?" 

"Anya?" Tara smiled at the little girl's mispronunciation. "No, sweetie, she's not going to die." 

"She was all bloody." 

"Well, yes, but she's going to be okay. I promise." 

"People bleed and get better, love," Spike told her. 

"Was the baby bleeding?" 

"Uh," Tara looked up at Spike. "Well, that's hard to say..." 

"Mommy said the baby's in Anna's stomach and that's why it's so big." 

Relieved to be on safer ground, Tara nodded. "Yes, it is. When the baby's born she'll be just like she was." 

"I like Anna. She gives me wine." 

"She gives you _what_?" Spike said, glaring furiously at Xander. 

But Tara shook her head at him. "It's cranberry juice," she mouthed. 

"It better be," Spike said darkly. "There's only room for one alcoholic in this family and that's me. Come on, kitten," he stood up, easily carrying Alice with him. "Time to go home." 

"It's probably nothing," Buffy said as they went out to the car - his, it was faster - but they were both thinking about the horrible problems Buffy had had in the last third of her first pregnancy. Thankfully, Alice had been a trouble-free baby, but that didn't stop Spike worrying about Buffy for the whole nine months. 

Alice fell asleep as soon as she got into her car seat - it was later than her usual bedtime and the excitement had worn her out - therefore they were in no hurry to get her home and to bed. 

So when they came upon the little old car at the side of the dark road with steam coming from under the hood, and Buffy said they should stop, Spike pulled the Aston over onto the edge. There was a woman bending over the engine of the little car, a yoing woman, and she was alone. 

"Do you need help?" Buffy asked, getting out of the car. 

"I don't know anything about cars," the woman called back, although when she lifted her head free of the bonnet, Buffy thought she she looked like exactly the sort of girl who'd been fixing up cars since she was thirteen. Dark hair, dark lipstick, a couple of tattoos and lots of cleavage. She had a smoker's voice - Buffy knew, being married to one. 

"Spike, come and help," Buffy said, but as he got out of the car, someone came up the dark, tree-lined slope at the side of the road. 

And then everything happened at once. 

Someone shoved Buffy to the ground, winding her, and rushed over to the Aston, reaching in the back and yanking Alice out. The little girl awoke with a cry, confused and frightened in the dark with a stranger holding her, and Buffy pulled herself to her feet. 

Spike, hearing his daughter's cry, swung his head in her direction, but before he could move the tattooed woman had brought out a gun and shot him point blank in the chest. 

Buffy heard the shot, her head whipped round, and she froze in horror as Spike fell backwards into the trees and tumbled down the slope, blood flying after him, spattering the woman with the gun. 

"Mommy!" Alice screamed, and Buffy tried to gather the strength to move, but then something heavy crashed down on her head, and the last thing she heard was her daughter crying. 

"Well, that was a big bust," Anya grumbled, glaring back at her husband as he wheeled her out of the hospital. 

"Don't glare at me. Not my fault you got a... whatever he said." 

"Something to do with a placenta?" Tara suggested helpfully. 

"Or was it a pre-something?" Willow frowned. 

"Whatever," Anya said. "It hurt. And it _is_ your fault, Harris." 

"How is it my fault?" 

"You got me pregnant. You and your penis. Oh, have another orgasm, you'd say. And meanwhile it was all part of your plan to turn me into this massive whale." 

"You're not a whale," Xander said, exchanging a look with the girls, who were trying not to smile. 

"Yes, I am. Or I'm giving birth to one. Oh God! What if it never comes out? What if I'm stuck being pregnant forever? I'll have this giant baby just stuck inside me..." 

"Poor baby," Willow murmured to her girlfriend as they waved goodbye and went to their own car. "Do you think we should call Buffy and Spike?" she added. 

Tara nodded. "I have a feeling those two will have other things on their minds," she said, looking over at Anya and Xander, who were arguing as he helped her into the car. "Being pregnant must be hard: all those false alarms. Remember Buffy?" 

"Kinda makes you glad you never have to go through it," Willow agreed. 

"Well, you know, we could. A sperm bank or whatever." 

"Yeah, but then it wouldn't be ours," Willow said sadly, and they got into her car and drove home. 

She dialled Buffy and Spike's house as soon as they got home, but there was no answer and she left a message, unworried. They were often out, or engaged in other activities, as Anya had explained with glee while her husband squirmed. 

"So what do you want to do?" Tara asked. "Go out or stay in?" 

Willow looked at her and smiled slowly. "I vote we stay in," she said, "and relish being child- and reponsibility-free." 

Tara grinned. "I second that." 

Buffy woke with a throbbing head, to the sound of a child crying. Groggily, feeling dreadful, she rolled over to get Spike to go deal with it. She must be ill or something. She could hardly move. 

And then she realised that the reason she could hardly move was that she was in chains. Her hands were manacles together and she was in leg irons - leg irons! - that were fastened to the floor. They clinked loudly against the rusty steel plating that surrounded her. The room swayed - but then that could have been her head. 

"Can't you shut that kid up?" someone said in annoyance, and Buffy frowned, because there was something a little familiar about the voice. She prised open her sticky eyelids and tried to peer through the gloom, and when she did, she felt sick. 

The first thing she saw was Alice, curled into a little ball beside her, tied with harsh ropes, crying pitifully. But as she reached out to comfort her daughter, she was pulled back by her own confines, and she tugged and rattled at them. 

"Save your strength - and my ears," the voice said, and Buffy looked up to see the dark-haired woman who'd been having car trouble. She was leaning against a metal table on the far side of the small room, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. The entire room was panelled in rusty steel, and there was a small, circular, riveted window behind the woman. A porthole. They were on a ship. "You won't get loose." 

Buffy yanked harder, but all it did was chafe the skin of her wrists. She wriggled a bit, and managed to nudge Alice's body with her knee. 

"Hey, sweetie, it's okay. I'm here." 

The woman snorted. "Don't listen to her, kid. It is far from okay." 

Buffy ignored her. "Alice? Come here, love." 

Alice looked up, and her tearstained face wrenched at Buffy's heart. She shuffled and stretched, and managed to lay her head on her mother's lap. Buffy stroked at her hair, unable to move enough to cuddle her. 

"Where are we?" the little girl sobbed. 

"I don't know," Buffy said, "but we'll get out." 

"No, you won't." 

"Look," Buffy glared at her, "I am trying to comfort my daughter here. Just butt out, will you?" 

"Ooh, feisty, are you?" the smoking woman said. She propped her cigarette in an ashtray and sauntered over. Her gait was confident, cocky. She had heeled boots and leather jeans on, and her top bound up her breasts into an impressive cleavage. 

She kicked at Buffy's face, but Buffy raised her hand from Alice's head and knocked her off balance. 

The woman sprawled back on the ground with a metallic clang, and Buffy tried not to smirk. The action had at least stopped her daughter's crying. 

But it had pissed off the woman, who grabbed a rifle from the table and smashed the barrel into Buffy's face with a sickening thud. Then she grabbed Alice, pulled her away by her hair, making the little girl scream, and aimed the gun at her head. 

"No," Buffy cried, reached out, the manacles pulling her back. 

"It's her or you," the woman said fiercely. 

"Don't hurt her. Please don't hurt her," Buffy said, hating the sound of her begging voice. 

The woman shoved Alice to the ground, where she cowered, screaming with fear, and Buffy felt hot tears cascade down her throbbing face. But she didn't even have time to reassure her daughter, because the rifle struck again, hard across her aching cheek, and she was flung to the metal floor. A heeled boot struck her ribs, the pointed toe digging in, and Buffy caught her breath. 

"I'm pregnant," she gasped, and an evil light lit up her attacker's face. 

"Not for much longer." 

It looked like a dead body: still and very pale, dried blood all over, eyes closed. Nancy didn't want to get too close, but her dog was fascinated. 

"Rocky, leave it alone," she called, frightened. She didn't want to call it a man - it looked dead to her. White. Gross. "Rocky-" she tugged at his lead, but he was licking the still white face. 

It moved. 

Nancy edged a few steps closer. "Hey - excuse me?" 

This time it let out a little groan. Well, okay - not it, _he_. He was definitely alive. 

"Are you okay?" 

Spike prised open one eye and just about managed to recognise the blurred thing above him as a woman. "'Course'm not blurry'kay," he croaked feebly, his head spinning and jolting. "Whassat-" he moved to bat the dog away from his face, and then realised he couldn't move his arm without severe pain all over. Actually, he couldn't move it at all, pain or no pain. 

And there was lots of pain. 

"Jeesschrist," he gasped, trying to sit up, but that didn't work either. "Wha'the blurry-?" 

"I think you got shot," Nancy said nervously, still keeping her distance. "Or stabbed or something. Uh, stay here, I'll go and get some help..." 

Stay here, Spike thought as she sped up the slope. Yeah, like I'm going to be moving so far. 

He tried to remember what had brought him to this place, in this condition. He was lying at the bottom of a slope, in a wood, covered in dirt and dew and blood, and he was pretty sure that was a bullet wound in his shoulder. 

Great. Another one. Buffy was going to be- 

Oh God, Buffy. 

Alice. 

Oh, God. 

But before he could think of anything else, pain overtook him and he passed out again. 

"He's right down here," the girl said, and Willow took out her cell-phone, ready to dial 911. You heard about people luring lone women into woods - sure, this girl looked trustworthy... actually, she looked kind of hot... but Willow wasn't taking any chances. Whenever she went out jogging she took her phone and a defence spray with her. She had one in each hand right now. 

But when she got to the bottom of the slope, she nearly dropped them both. There was a little dog yapping around her feet but she hardy noticed it as she ran over to the still, pale figure on the ground. 

"Spike? _Spike_!" 

He didn't move, and when she felt at his wrist his pulse was very weak. "Call 911," Willow thrust her phone at Nancy as she started checking Spike's breathing and tried to find out where he was bleeding from. God, there was blood everywhere. How had he survived? He could have bled to death. How long had he been there? 

What on earth had happened? 

Tara met her at the hospital, later than expected, towing a confused and frightened Will behind her. 

"There was no answer at their house," she said, "or on either of their cell phones, so I went round and there was no one there. Buffy's car was there but Spike's had gone. So I went in - I just wanted to make sure, you know, that the house was okay, I had visions of Buffy falling down the stairs and knocking herself out and the kids being alone and... and there was no one there." 

Willow gestured to Will, looking confused. "But-" 

"The phone rang while I was there," Tara explained. "He was staying with a friend and Buffy was supposed to have picked him up hours ago. Only she wasn't there, so I went... I checked the answerphone, Wills, the message you left last night was still on there. No one's been back there since they left the hospital." 

"But they left together," Willow said. "Buffy and Alice were with him." Her pale face turned paler. "We should tell the police. Whoever shot Spike could have-" she blinked, trying hard not to cry. She didn't want Will to see her cry: it'd frighten him even more. "Uh, Will, come here, stay with me. Aunty Tara's got a call to make," she mimed 'police' over the little boy's head, and her girlfriend nodded. 

"What's happening?" Will asked, inching closer to Willow, who hauled him into her lap and hugged him. 

"I don't know, sweetie. Your daddy's hurt and your mommy... Well, I'm not sure where she is. But I'm sure she's fine," she added, rather unconvincingly. 

"What about Alice?" Will asked after a moment's pause. 

"She's with your mommy." 

"Are they okay?" 

"I'm sure they are." 

"What happened to my dad?" 

Willow paused. She'd known Spike six, nearly seven years now, and in that time he'd managed to get himself shot at and stabbed and tortured and burnt and beaten up more than she'd ever thought possible. The man was a walking trouble magnet. But this was serious trouble: the doctors said he'd lost so much blood it was a wonder he wasn't dead. 

Right then a doctor appeared and spoke to Willow, "He's stable now." 

She let out a breath. "Can we see him?" 

The doctor looked doubtfully at her and Will. "Are you family?" 

"He's my daddy," Will said proudly, and Willow gave a little smile. 

"I'm his godmother," she added, hoping that was good enough. The doctor hesitated, then he nodded, and they followed the doctor down a hall, into a room with lots of machinery in it. Spike was hooked up to wires and apparatus, and he looked strangely weak - strange, that was, for such a strong, vital man. 

He opened his eyes when he heard Willow come in, and smiled a bit when he saw Will. 

"Daddy?" the little boy said fearfully. 

"Hey, kid. Your old man's a bit in the wars." 

"Are you going to die?" 

At that Spike smiled a bit wider. "No, love, I'm not. Just a bit feeble for a while. Remember when I fell off the roof and broke my arm? Like that." 

Will nodded solemnly. 

"What happened?" Willow asked, and Spike closed his eyes. 

"I... dunno." His eyes snapped back open. "Where's Buffy?" 

"I... don't know." 

Will looked between them anxiously. "Daddy, where's Mommy?" 

"She was with me," Spike said. "Her and Alice. We stopped to help this woman on the way home last night - only she was just pretending to have car trouble, 'cos as soon as she got us out of the car she-" his fists clenched. "Someone took Alice. They got her out of the car and when we tried to stop them..." 

Will clutched at Willow and she held him to her. "They shot you?" 

He nodded, eyes closed. 

"And Buffy?" 

He shrugged, painfully, hopelessly. "I dunno. She went down, I didn't see what happened. You did look - it was you who found me, right?" 

"Well, sort of," Willow said. "We looked all around. Couldn't think why you'd be out there all alone and Buffy wouldn't know about it. We told the police - well, Tara's just calling them now. Spike, did you recognise any of them?" 

He shook his head. "Only really saw her." 

"Could you describe her? Recognise her if you saw her again?" 

"Uh, let's see. Remember the woman who shot me in the chest? I think I could bring her face to mind." 

Buffy awoke on a metal table, feeling horribly weak, her whole body in pain. In the background, Alice was crying, but Buffy's mouth was too dry to say anything to her. There was a man bending over her: dark skin, dark eyes, and he was muttering in a foreign language. 

Buffy tried to kick out at him, but pain shot through her body and she fell back with a cry. 

The man said something, and was answered by a familiar voice. The smoking woman. 

"He says you should lie still," she advised Buffy. "He's almost done." 

"Done - what?" Buffy's head was swimming. "Alice-" 

"Just keep still." 

Then something stung her arm, and blackness overtook her again. 

Next time she woke, she was back in the rusty steel room, chains on her hands and feet again, and the pain had dimmed a little. She was groggy, like she'd been drugged, and the feeling that overwhelmed her was memory: this was exactly how it had been after Will had been born... 

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around. Alice was curled in the far corner, asleep by the look of her - Buffy stared until she was sure her daughter was breathing - and the smoking woman was sitting on her table, cigarette between her lips. 

"Morning," she said, looking at Buffy, who looked down at herself. She was wearing what looked like blue hospital scrubs, her feet bare, her hair loose. When she tried to move, pain arrowed through her, straight from her abdomen. 

"What did you do to me?" 

"You lost your baby." 

Anger surged through Buffy. "I lost it? You beat it out of me." 

The woman shrugged. "Hey, I got my orders. I fixed you up, though. You'll be okay." She dragged on her cigarette. "Probably." 

"What do you mean, you fixed-" an image of the dark man crowded Buffy's mind. "That man-" 

"Doctor," the smoker said. "A proper one. Don't worry, he was clean. Scrubbed the table and everything. You won't get infected." 

Buffy shuddered at the thought. She'd heard horror stories from other women at her natal clinic about internal infections picked up after careless examinations - and this was in a clean, sterile American clinic. God only knew what sort of doctor that guy was. 

"What did he do?" 

"I dunno. Something gross." 

Buffy felt at her stomach - still painful. Her baby was dead. She'd known that when she started bleeding, but that hadn't stopped the other woman from beating on her. Buffy had passed out long before the blows stopped. 

"Why did you get me a doctor? A bit pointless, after all that..." 

"Gotta take you in alive," was the answer. 

"Take me? Where?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" 

Well, yes, actually, Buffy thought. "Why do you want me and my daughter?" 

"Got my orders." 

"From who?" 

"Shut up, or I'll hit you again." 

Buffy wasn't sure she could take any more; and what was to say that if she passed out, they'd bother to send for the doctor again? They could hurt Alice while Buffy was unconscious. No, no more heroics for her. She was feeling fragile enough as it was. Her whole body hurt; her bones were brusied; she wouldn't be surprised if a rib or two was broken. She'd been bleeding all over - that was why she'd been put in these new clothes. Her old jeans and sweater must have been soaked through and dirty. Dangerous for someone in her - hah! - her condition. 

She touched her lip, which was crusted with dried blood. "We're on a ship." 

"Woah, you're smart." 

"Where are we going?" 

Nothing. 

"How long 'til we get there?" 

Nothing. 

"Who wants me?" 

Nothing. 

"Do you even know?" 

"Yes, I know," the other woman snapped. "Now quit asking questions." 

Buffy hauled herself up to sit with her back against the rusty wall. "What happened to Spike?" 

This caught her attention. Her brows came down and her eyes flickered in Buffy's direction. 

"Who?" 

"Spike. My husband." Bufy winced to herself, then added, "The one you shot." 

"He's dead." 

For a second Buffy just stared at her. "What?" 

"You saw me shoot him. Right in the chest. He's dead." 

Buffy saw her husband, her lover, her best friend, the most amazing man she'd ever met, tumbling backwards down that dark slope, blood exploding from his chest. 

He was dead. Her Spike was dead. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

It seemed to be forever before they'd let him out. Spike hated hospitals at the best of times, but right now all he wanted to do was go home and curl up on Buffy's bed and think about her. He couldn't even look at Alice's room: her bed was neat and small, and it was bereft of her favourite toy, the little scruffy dog she carried everywhere. It had been salvaged from Spike's car: charred and dirty, unsuitable for a child but enough for Spike to hold and wait with for Alice to come home and claim it. 

The police had come up with nothing - apart from his car, wrecked beyond belief, thirty miles away in a landfill. He'd described the woman who shot him and they'd run a lot of names by him, but none of them meant anything. It was only when he said she had a barbed wire tattoo on her right arm - she one she'd raised to shoot him - that they suddenly came up with a suspect. 

"Faith Andersen." The cop showed him a photo, and it was definitely her. "Yeah, she's wanted for a lot of things. Murder, assault-" 

"Kidnapping?" 

"Not until now." 

"Who's she working for?" 

"No one we know of. Live wire. She's got a juvie record but of course we're not allowed to see that." 

Spike rested back on the sofa. The house seemed very empty without Buffy. "Why would she take Buffy and Alice?" 

The cop shrugged. "We're working on it." 

But if Faith was a murderer, then she could have just killed Buffy and Alice. There was nothing at all to let him think they were still alive. 

Except that _he_ was still alive. 

He'd told her countless times, and desperately meant it: he couldn't live without her. Without her near, he couldn't draw breath. The only reason he'd managed to get himself home and get out of bed in the mornings was Will. Maybe that was the only reason he was still around. He loved his kids as fiercely as he loved his wife. 

But he still felt empty without her. 

Xander and Anya had taken care of Will while Spike was still hospitalised, and Willow had gone to his school to explain that his mother was away and his father ill. Spike wouldn't let her tell them the truth. He figured he should be the one to do that. 

He'd been to see Will's teacher this morning, sat down in her office and explained that Will's mother and sister were missing. Will was coping well - he figured they were on a kind of vacation and they'd be back soon - and he thought it was cool beyond belief that his dad had got shot. 

Miss Calendar had been less enthusiastic. "A little boy like Will, he relies on his mother. He needs her around." 

"I need her around too," Spike said. "There's bugger all I can do about it right now." 

He stormed out and got in Buffy's car, which he hated because it was crap and because it reminded him of her. Thank God it was an automatic, so he didn't have to use both hands. His right arm was in a tight sling to immobilise his shoulder while it healed. 

He was really getting sick of being shot at. 

It was made all the worse by the fact that it hadn't happened for a while. Well - he hadn't been hit, put it that way. When he was off 'obtaining' art for Buffy, people frequently shot at him. But the last time he'd been seriously hurt was when Glory had tried to kill him and Will. His son had only been a baby then, and both Spike and Buffy had nearly died saving him. 

And then before that, not long after he'd met Buffy, that whole entanglement with the Angelus group. Oh, they'd shot at him, beaten him, tied him in a cellar and starved him, burnt him - although that was slightly Buffy's fault, too. 

Spike reflected that he only seemed to get seriously hurt when Buffy or one of the kids was involved. He never risked himself otherwise. 

But it was better a world without him than a world without them. 

He got home and kicked his way out of the car, slamming the door shut. He hated this big ugly van. Why'd she need something so big? She was tiny, and the kids were hardly big. She needed something smaller - she'd never been good at parking anyway. Something safe and strong, something reliable so she didn't get caught breaking down at the side of the road... 

He was startled out of his mental car catalogue by the person sitting on the porch steps. Riley stood up - always a few inches taller, he towered over Spike from the porch. 

Spike ignored him and rummaged in his coat pocket for his keys. 

"Aren;t you going to say hello?" 

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" 

Riley supposed that was the best he'd get. 

"I came to see Buffy." 

Spike unlocked the door and strode in. "She's not here." 

"Well, I can see-" 

Spike slammed the door. Riley opened it again. 

"Get out of my house," Spike said. 

"I just want to see Buffy." 

"I told you, she's not here." 

"Well, when will she be back?" 

Spike's fingers curled into a fist and his eyes closed for a second. "I don't know," he said in despair. 

"Where is she?" 

Spike turned away and went through into the kitchen. "Don't know that either." 

"Don't know much about your wife, do you?" 

"I know she got kidnapped a week ago," Spike snapped, taking down a bottle of bourbon from a high cupboard and sloshing some into a glass. "That's more'n you know." 

Riley was silent for a second. "Kidnapped?" 

"Yeah. Her and Alice." 

"Her daughter?" 

"_Our_ daughter," Spike said, glaring at him, going through into the living room and throwing himself at the sofa. 

Riley followed, and leaned in the doorway. "So you actually got her to marry you." 

Spike narrowed her eyes. "Was there something you wanted, or did you just come here to annoy me? 'Cos I gotta tell you, I'm really not in the mood to-" 

"How'd you do it?" 

"Do what?" Spike gave up on the glass and drank straight from the bourbon bottle. 

"Get her to marry you. You tell her you love her?" 

"I tell her every day," Spike said, and winced, because lately she hadn't been here to hear him. 

"And you know what, I think she actually believes you." 

"Damn right she does, Captain Cardboard, because it's actually true. I love my wife, I love my kids, and I don't like you. And if you don't have anything useful to say, I'd advise you to leave because-" 

"What? You're gonna throw me out?" Riley loomed over him. "With one arm? What happened to you? Bar fight?" 

At that Spike moved, and even with only one arm for balance he still flowed to his feet like a cat, in an instant, graceful and menacing. 

"I got shot," he said. "By the people who took my wife and my daughter," he emphasised the words just to piss Riley off a bit more, "and that's the only reason I didn't go after them. They left me bleeding and unconscious. If the bullet had been an inch lower it'd have killed me." 

"What a shame," Riley said. "Did it occur to you maybe Buffy left you unconscious and bleeding on purpose? Maybe she wasn't kidnapped, Spike. Maybe she ran away." 

Spike's free hand curled into a fist, but he managed to restrain himself. 

"They knocked her out too," he said. "They took her. Even got a name as to who did it." 

"I see you're champing at the bit to go and find her." 

At that Spike's eyes narrowed again. "Find who?" 

"Buffy. Your beloved wife, remember?" 

Spike relaxed, and stepped away. "Listen, mate," he said suddenly. "You still an army yes-man?" 

"NSA," Riley said tightly, "not army." 

"Still got orders to follow and a pretty gun to shoot. You want to help Buffy? Think you can tear her away from this slave pit I've obviously been chaining her to," he gestured around the pretty, comfortable house, decorated with the kids' toys and pictures of the four of them laughing together. "Maybe you can do something for me. For her." 

Riley looked around the room for a second. "I'm listening." 

"Coppers give me a name to hate. See, the women who shot me-" 

"It was a woman?" Riley was obviously amused. 

"Yeah, a woman, with her .45 aimed at me. I got a good look at her face. Pretty girl, very distinctive. Got a lot of tattoos to help me remember her by." 

"Lot of women have tattoos." 

"Yeah, but not all of them have nice juicy police records. You ever hear of a Faith Andersen?" 

Riley shook his head minutely. 

"Well, hear of her. As I'm so obviously of no sodding use to Buffy, you can help me out." He glanced at the clock. "And now I'm gonna go any pick my son up. Our son." He gestured to a big picture of Will. "Looks like me, don't you think?" 

With Riley sufficiently pissed off, Spike kicked him out and went and sat in Buffy's car. He was early to pick Will up, but then in this car it would probably take him hours to get there. Maybe he should go out and buy Buffy a new car. A present for her when she got back. 

But no, she'd be pissed off with him if he bought her a car without consulting her first. He'd wait until she got back. Then they'd pick one out together. 

Because she sure as hell was coming back. 

A week passed, though Buffy was hardly aware of it. She spent most of her time in that little metal room with Alice chained just out of reach, and Faith sitting there on her table, fondling her rifle in a phallic way. She'd learned Faith's name by accident - a dark-eyed man had come to the door and beckoned to her through the small glass window. Faith had grinned and stepped out, taking her gun with her, and as soon as the door was shut Buffy saw her dark head against it, moving rhythmically as the dark-eyed sailor pounded into her. Buffy closed her eyes, grateful Alice was asleep and didn't have to listen as Faith loudly - probably on purpose - screamed in ecstasy. 

And the man cried out, "_Dios_ - Faith!" 

Buffy wasn't good on Spanish, but she knew Faith was an English word. Or a name. She addressed the other woman by it twice before she noticed, and wasn't corrected. 

She was always hungry. Food occasionally came - bits of bread or greasy meat, smelling foul to Buffy, but divine at the same time because she was so starved. There was never enough for even one meal though, and Faith watched with interest as Buffy gave the lion's share to Alice. 

The little girl complained constantly about the chains that hurt her wrists - after the first day, Faith had had a set resoldered to fit Alice's small limbs, and they chafed all the time. Her skin, like Buffy's, was raw; but unlike Buffy, she wasn't carrying bruises inside and out. 

Buffy had told Alice her father was dead, stretching out her hands to comfort her daughter while Faith watched boredly. Alice hadn't really believed her at first, so Faith had chipped in that she shot him point blank in the chest and no man could survive that. 

"Data could," Alice referred to her Trekkie hero. 

"He's an android, sweetie, and I'm not sure if he could anyway," Buffy said. 

"My daddy's really strong," Alice said, her lip quivering. Her eyes were so big and blue and trusting Buffy nearly cried. 

"I know, sweetheart, but some things can bring down the strongest man. He was trying to protect you, love. You and me. He always said we were the most important things to him." 

"What about Will?" Alice said. 

"Well, yes, Will was important to him too." God, already she was using the past tense. This was horrible. 

"Where is Will?" Alice looked around as if expecting to see him hiding under the table. 

"I... I don't know," Buffy said. "I guess Uncle Xander and Auntie Anya are looking after him. Or Willow and Tara." It was too kitsch to call both the girls 'auntie', so she'd never bothered. Spike did sometimes, to piss them off, but Buffy always- 

She closed her eyes. She was determined not to cry in front of Faith. 

"Who's Will?" Faith asked, and Buffy opened her eyes. 

"My son." It still gave her pride to say that - an old-fashioned pride that she'd created such a strong, good-looking, healthy boy. His father's heir, although that, of course, was still a bone of contention. 

"Lord Stanchester has an heir? Well - I guess your kid's the viscount now. Or is it the earl - I don't know how these English things work." 

"He'll be Will Dashwood," Buffy said. "Spike renounced the title. Our nephew inherited." 

"Nephew?" 

"Yes. Spike had a sister, Darla. Her son Connor was the next in line after Spike gave up the title. He's two now. The youngest earl in the Stanchester line." 

"Fascinating," Faith drawled. 

"Mommy, why did Daddy re - re-" 

"Renounce? He gave it up because he didn't believe in it. There's a lot of responsibility to being an earl, love, and your daddy never was good with responsibility." 

"That, and the fact that the old earl disinherited him," Faith said idly. 

"He did not," Buffy said hotly. "He threatened to, but he had no one else to pass the title to. He had to give it to Spike or it would have died out." 

"Grandpa was a mean old man," Alice said, even though she'd never met him. 

"Well, yes, he was," Buffy said, because there was no denying it. Ethan Rayne Dashwood had been a nasty piece of work. Part of the reason Spike had renounced his title was that he found out his father had been so desperate to secure an heir of good blood that he'd offered Buffy a substantial amount of money to walk away and never claim paternity from Spike. 

Buffy had, of course, ignored him and married Spike anyway, but it had been a source of contention between them. She'd never really seen him as the Viscount of Spellingdon, and she definitely couldn't think of herself as a viscountess - and then, after Ethan died, they'd been the Earl and Countess of Stanchester, which was both hilarious and depressing, all at the same time. Poor Will, for the first few years of his life, until Connor was born, had been styled The Honourable William Dashwood, and then he'd inherited the viscount's title, at the age of eighteen months. Little Alice had been born a Lady - but when Spike gave the Earldom up, all their titles had vanished, and Buffy was glad. It had been bloody stupid filling out forms and having to cross out Miss/Ms/Mrs and write in 'Lady'. 

She'd never suited being a lady, anyway. 

And now, huddled in dirty clothes in a dirty metal room, chained to a wall while a fierce woman held a gun over her, Buffy had never felt further from her erstwhile title. 

"Is that why we were taken?" she asked Faith. "Because of the title?" 

"I don't give a fuck about the title, B. You were taken for your hubby's stash." 

"His stash?" Buffy didn't understand. "Of what?" 

"I don't know. Money, art, whatever. Drugs for all I know. Someone wants you 'cos you'll know where it is." 

"But he doesn't have a stash of anything," Buffy said, confused. Spike had a bank account, like normal people. Actually, he had several, for tax purposes, and a few of them were offshore and therefore ever so slightly illegal, but he certainly didn't have a big stash of money and art and precious things locked away somewhere, like a dragon's hoard. 

"Nice try, B. He's gonna beat it out of you. Or maybe he'll let me." 

"Who's 'he'?" 

"You'll find out." 

At some point, Faith stopped kicking the crap out of Buffy - and stopped threatening Alice - and settled down to threats instead. She spent pretty much all day in that little room, just watching her two captives. Buffy guessed there must be a crew somewhere on the ship, but apart from the man who came to bring food - a plate of something steaming for Faith and some scraps for Buffy and Alice - and shag Faith up against the metal door, she saw no one. 

Days blurred together - very little light came in through the little porthole, and there was usually an electric light on, a bald bulb swinging from the ceiling. At night though, Faith left for her own bed - or her sailor's - and Buffy and Alice were left together. Alice slept most of the time, for which Buffy was grateful. Lack of food and stimulation sent her daughter into some sort of stupor, which probably wasn't good for her, but at least she was missing the beatings and threats inflicted on her mother. 

So far she'd managed to protect Alice by taking whatever punishment Faith felt like dealing out. But that could easily change. 

Buffy was aware how close to death she'd come on that first day. Women throughout history had died horribly in childbirth, or after a miscarriage, simply because they'd been unaware of how invasive germs really were, and of how dreadfully important cleanliness was. It made Buffy shudder to think of that doctor touching her in this filthy room. Even if he'd been clean, and the table had been clean, there was so much dirt around, her clothes must have been filthy. Her skin and hair were crawling now - it had been a week since she'd showered, and the memory of the water beating down on her body while Spike pleasured her made her cry in the night. 

He was gone. She'd seen that gun pressed against his chest, heard the dreadful thump of the bullet tearing through him. Seen him fall backwards through the wood. He was gone, her husband, her lover, her friend. Buffy couldn't remember ever loving or relying on someone like she did on Spike. She trusted him completely. 

When she'd been pregnant she'd been more aware of how other women looked at him. He was the same as always - strikingly handsome, moving with confident grace, an air of predatory menace and sexual superiority floating around him. And there had been Buffy, tired and aching and bloated, feeling horribly ugly, knowing that other women looked on Spike with pity and longing. Hey, stud, come and try me out instead of that fat pregnant bag. 

But he'd never even glanced their way. His every thought had been for her: he comfort, her happiness, her love. He'd done everything for her. He'd fought and stolen and killed to keep her safe - her and the kids, and Dawn too. He knew what was important to her, and it was important to him too. 

One morning Faith came in and Buffy felt so depressed she didn't even look up. Faith called to her with increasing sharpness, and eventually came over and kicked Buffy's back where she lay facing the wall. 

"Don't ignore me, I know you're awake." 

"Leave me alone." 

"You know, I don't feel like it." 

Buffy said nothing. 

"Well, if you're not going to entertain me, maybe the kid can," Faith said, and that got Buffy's attention. She rolled over to see Faith aiming the gun at Alice, who was still asleep, and said quickly, "Okay. What do you want?" 

Faith withdrew the gun and went to her table. Her heels clanged on the metal floor. 

"What were you crying about?" 

"What do you think?" 

"If it's your dead baby I'll be so disappointed. Thought you had more backbone, B." 

Buffy hauled herself into a sitting position, resting her aching back against the wall. 

"Not my dead baby," she said, her heart twisting at the thought of it, "my dead husband." 

"Well, he was a major hottie, I'll give you that. What was he like in the sack?" 

Buffy opened her mouth to tell Faith that there was more to Spike than a hot guy who was good in bed - but then she was assaulted with the memory of them crashing to the floor while the table collapsed around them, his body sliding against hers, his skin hot and slick with sweat, his fingers digging into her flesh, making her writhe and gasp with pleasure - and she caught her breath, flinching. 

"That good, huh?" Faith whistled. "Wow. Shame he's dead then." 

Buffy glared at her coldly. 

"How long you two been together?" Faith asked, crossing her legs on the table. 

"Six years." 

"You know he was titled before you married him?" 

"Yes, but not before I..." it sounded hokey to say it. Not before she'd fallen in love with him. 

"What was your dress like?" Faith asked suddenly. 

"What?" 

"Your wedding dress. What was it like?" 

Buffy blinked. "Uh, which one?" 

"How many times you been married?" 

"Well, twice, actually. We... after Will was born we sort of broke up for a while. We got divorced and started again. So my first gown was the big maternity thing, and my second one was this little white summer dress. It had daisies on it, and on the veil, too." Buffy thought of the photo over the mantel - her and Spike laughing together at something Xander had just said, arms around each other, bright and happy with love. She smiled a little as she remembered. 

"Maybe I should call you Liz Taylor," Faith quipped, bringing Buffy back to the miserable present. "So he knocked you up before he married you? Shotgun, huh?" 

"No," Buffy said, "I... he didn't know I was pregnant. We were sort of broken up then, too." 

Faith shook her head incredulously. "You broke up twice?" 

"Yep." 

"Yeah, I can see how that'd make him the love of your life." 

"We had some problems," Buffy glared at her. "We fixed them. We were - it was all fine until you-" her fists clenched; she was _not_ going to cry. 

"Yeah, sorry, B. Got my orders, you know." 

"Your orders included killing my husband and my baby?" 

She shrugged. "Call that artistic licence." 

"It's a bit of a stretch to say you're sorry then, isn't it?" 

Faith's eyes dropped, and she said nothing. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six 

_This chapter's gonna have some lyrics threading through it. See if you can guess where from. It's fun..._

Another day passed. Spike woke up, relied on Will to tell him what to do in the morning, and marvelled again that Buffy did it all without any fuss at all. He took his son to school and walked him right to the door, telling him before he left, "Don't go outside without the teacher, remember? And stay inside until I come to get you. Do not speak to anyone you don't know. Right?" 

"I know, Dad. You tell me every day." 

"Just don't forget. It's important. You hear me, kid? I bloody mean this." 

When his father looked as fierce as that, Will was slightly afraid. He nodded. "Okay, I won't." 

Spike hugged his son, eyes clenched shut. "And be good. You got everything? Okay." He kissed the boy's cheek, making him squirm. "Have a good day. Love you." 

Will wriggled away and ran off to his friends. Spike straightened up and watched him: normal kid, happy with his mates. Didn't seem to realise anything majorly wrong was happening. Had no idea his father was crumbling inside. 

A voice at his side startled him. "Any word?" 

It was the teacher - he had to think for a second for her name - Miss Calendar. He shook his head. 

"Nothing yet. We know who took them but not why." 

"It's been how long now?" 

Spike looked at his watch. "Eight days, twelve hours, thirty-seven minutes. Thirty-eight now." 

She bit her lip and nodded sympathetically. "I hope you hear something soon." 

So did Spike, although he knew the odds of hearing any good news after this long were not good. He couldn't remember a single missing person case he'd ever heard of where the person was found after more than a few days. If they ever turned up at all, it was as a body washed ashore or dug up from a shallow grave. 

He sat in the car, willing himself not to cry. They weren't dead. They were coming back. They were going to be fine. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

_There's a light overhead, overhead. In the sky, overhead, overhead. And I'm with you now, in body, and music, and mind._

Buffy woke, cold and stiff, to the sound of footsteps and voices outside. 

"Mommy," Alice reached for her. "What's happening?" 

Buffy curled her fingers around Alice's. "I don't know. I think - I think we might be coming into port..." 

_And we're silent, and still: everything's so out of control tonight_. 

The phone rang and Spike snatched it up. "Yes?" 

A second's pause, and then Riley's voice. "Spike. You still want information on Faith Andersen?" 

"What've you got?" 

"Not a lot. She's elusive. We've had a few intelligence reports she's involved with a South American drugs cartel... Uh, it's run by this American guy, we've been after him for years. Her name's only popped up recently as part of his gang... Name of Richard Wilkins III." 

"Uh," Spike had a vague memory of being threatened by someone of that name, "think I've heard of him. What does he want with Buffy and Alice?" 

"Old score to settle?" 

At that, Spike went cold. That was it: back in the day when he was still smuggling drugs, before he'd got into art. He'd lightfingered a load of Wilkins's stuff to sell on - never really been all that interested in it himself - but he'd got caught. Taken out three of Wilkin's men, lost half the cargo, and escaped with a price on his head. 

And now Wilkins was getting even. 

"Where is he?" 

_In a plane that's flying fast, at a speed that makes me cry_. 

"So I don't even get to see where I'm going?" Buffy said as she was shuffled like a prisoner off the boat and into a waiting van, manacles still in place, a heavy hood over her head. 

"Not having you make a break for it," Faith said. 

"You think I'd run and leave my daughter in your care? Or lack of," Buffy added under her breath. 

"Hey, I wouldn't kill a child." 

"No, but you'd beat the living daylights out of her." 

"Yeah, probably," Faith said, and shoved Buffy into the van so hard she tripped and fell, whacking her shins on the step. Someone picked her up and threw her in, and she landed, winded. 

The doors clanged shut. In panic, Buffy cried, "Alice?" 

Nothing. 

"Alice?" 

Silence. 

Shaking now, Buffy tried to lift the hands that had been chained behind her back, and rubbed the blindfold off with her shoulder. It was dark in the van, but bright enough to see that she was alone. 

Alice was nowhere to be seen. 

Buffy started banging on the van walls. "Hey! Faith! Where is she? What did you do with her? _Hey_!" 

The van started moving. No one answered. 

_Have you left me now, to trouble that won't let me lie?_

Spike hadn't been south of the border for a while. He'd thought about getting a plane, but someone like Wilkins'd have half an eye on the flight manifests, and he'd probably know all of Spike's aliases. There wasn't time to get hold of a new passport. He had to go now. 

So he took one of his old ones, hired a truck, and drove down to Mexico. No one really looked at him. He'd dyed his hair back to its natural dark brown and he was wearing normal clothes - jeans and a flannel shirt, his arm out of its annoying sling. Just like any other truck driver. 

At Guadalajara he ditched the lorry and stole a tourist's hire car to drive into the interior. There was a chance, he reflected, that Captain Cardboard had given him fake information, but somehow he doubted it. Riley just didn't have the information. And besides, he wanted Buffy back safe and sound, too. 

It took about a day and a half to get close to where he wanted to go. Mountains and forests, hot and sticky, plenty of fields full of stuff he knew wasn't legal. He'd been driving the whole time and his eyes were bleary with dust and sweat, but he'd finally got a handle on his feelings. 

Right now he was powered by pure anger. If Wilkins had hurt one hair on Alice's tiny blonde head or broken so much as a nail of Buffy's, then he'd be dead. 

Actually, he was dead anyway. But Spike'd make it extra painful if his girls had been hurt. 

He drove into a small mountain town, ditched the car and paid cash for a room in a dingy hotel. And then, because he was too tired to sleep, he used the cell phone that had been in the tourist's car - his would be easily traced - and called Xander's house. 

He'd sent Will to stay with his godfather, and Dawn too. And, because Anya wasn't in a position to do much protecting, he'd also ordered Willow and Tara to stay at the Harris house. He wanted as many capable adults around his son and his sister-in-law as possible - if such an epithet could be applied to Xander. 

"Hey niblet," he said, when Dawn came on. "How's tricks?" 

"I feel like I'm being quarantined," Dawn grumbled. "I'm a grown-up, Spike-" 

"So's your sister. Look what happened to her." 

There was a pause. "You haven't found her yet?" 

"I'm a couple of miles away from Wilkins' plantation. Gonna get some shut-eye, then I'll go up there before it gets light." 

"What's your plan?" 

"Shoot everyone who isn't Buffy or Alice and then get them the hell out." 

"Good plan," Dawn said. "You want to speak to Will?" 

She put the boy on, and he told his father, "I could come meet you. Xander says Mexico's closer than England and I've been there." 

"You were born there," Spike said, hit with rare homesickness. 

"I got a gun," Will said, and Spike's nostalgia vanished. 

"You got a _what_?" 

"Willow told me to stop shooting at Miss Kitty with it. It bounces off her anyway." 

"You - what?" Then he remembered the sucker-dart gun Will sometimes played with, to Buffy's chagrin. "Your plastic gun." 

"I'm good with it." 

"Yeah, love. Tell you what, I need you to look after Dawnie for me. I know she says she's a grown-up, but you and me know she's just a kid right?" 

"She's kinda big for a kid," Will said doubtfully. 

"Yeah," Spike smiled for the first time in ages, "she is a bit. But she still needs looking after. Now I'm not there, you're the man of the house, yeah?" 

"What about Uncle Xander?" 

"He's a bloody whelp and he knows it. You're my right-hand man, Will. Need you to protect the girls. Your Auntie Anya's in a delicate condition," he suppressed a smirk, thinking of her indelicate language, "and Dawnie's so much of a target she might as well have a bullseye on her head. Can you look after 'em for me?" 

"Yes," Will said solemnly. "Will you bring Mommy and Alice back?" 

"If it's the last thing I do." 

"I miss them." 

Spike closed his eyes. "Me too," he sighed. 

There were some noises off, and then Will said, "Auntie Dawn wants to talk." 

Abruptly, he was gone, and Dawn came back on. "Listen, Spike, I talked to Riley about this." 

"You did? When?" 

"Yesterday. I went over to see him-" 

"_Alone_?" 

"No, I took an entire SWAT team with me. I took Willow," she sighed. "I wanted to know about this Wilkins guy. He doesn't sound nice." 

"You think someone who'd kidnap Buffy and Alice would be hugs and puppies?" 

"No - Spike, stop patronising me. Riley says his place is guarded like a fortress. If his guys can't get in-" 

"Bunch of pussies," Spike dismissed. 

Dawn ignored him. "You're one man with one gun." 

"Two, actually." 

"And you're still hurt. Spike, maybe you should get some backup." 

Spike sighed again. "Niblet, I appreciate your concern, but I have done this sort of thing before. I escaped Wilkins last time, I can do it again." 

There was a pause. Spike could clearly picture Dawn's frustrated expression: she'd tried before to stop him doing dangerous things, and it had never worked. 

"Just be careful," she pleaded eventually. "I couldn't bear to lose you too." 

Spike ended the call and lay there for a while in the still, thick air of his cramped room. He knew Dawn cared for him - as he cared for her, deeply - but was she right? In the last five years she'd lost her mother to a brain tumour, nearly lost Spike to a fire and now she'd lost Buffy and Alice, to God only knew what. 

Was he risking too much here? Should he wait? 

He got out his wallet and stared at the picture there. It was a bit old: Alice was still toddling, her little face chubby and tearful because Will had been tormenting her just before the camera clicked. He was grinning out of the picture with the sort of instant innocence you lose when you grow up; and Buffy had her arms around them both, an expression of fierce pride and love on her beautiful face. 

Had there ever been a woman like her? She was perfect to him: a goddess. She'd given him these perfect, beautiful children, glorious living representations of their love. Sometimes - in fact, quite frequently - he had to pinch himself to see if it was all real. How could someone like her love someone like him? 

But love him she did. She'd proved it over and over. She adored him, and he was helpless to do anything but adore her in return. 

He put the picture back inside his coat, set a piece of tape on the door, and went down to the bar for a nightcap. 

_I'm awake all the time. You know where I stand: holding my plastic gun_. 

As the very dim light in the van dimmed even more, Buffy raised her head and wiped her sore eyes and resolved that as soon as they opened those van doors she was going to make her escape. Possibly it might kill her, but- 

Oh, hell, Alice. 

What if it did kill her? Who would protect Alice? 

She had to go along with them until she got Alice back. 

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, her dreams full of her dead husband. 

_So turn and run, you cold killers of innocence. Against us, there's no defence_. _Your flash and your wickedness... You can't break our love_. 

He'd asked around in the bar about Richard Wilkins III. The response varied from fearful silence to terrified fleeing. No one would say anything. 

Spike figured that was probably for the good: Wilkins had created a lot of terror, but no one actually knew anything. He had a drink or two, then went to sleep with a piece of string tied between the door and his finger so he'd know if anyone tried to get in. 

No one did. He woke when the morning was still dark, and left the room via the window. Someone else's car took him the rest of the way to Wilkins' estate: a big, high-walled fortress. He sat watching for a while, and eventually got the measure of the place. 

Spike shot the nearest guard and vaulted over the wall. So Riley's guys found that difficult, did they? 

_Tie my hands behind my back; put a gag on top of my mouth. But I won't give you up 'til silverware's covered in dust_, _and my shoes fall apart; the tumbleweed runs over my desert heart_. 

It was dark when the van stopped and Buffy was taken out, re-blindfolded, and walked through a courtyard - she could tell by the way the sound bounced - and into a building with cool marble floors. Her feet were still bare, dirty and sore, and she tripped a couple of times, always pulled back upright. One of her escorts was Faith; the other was a man, bigger, with rougher hands. He handled Buffy with no gentleness, but Faith seemed to have lost some of her violence. 

Once or twice she even muttered, "Y'okay?" when Buffy had tripped. 

Somehow, this made Buffy even more nervous. 

Eventually, she was brought to a halt standing on a soft rug. She dug her toes into the deep fibres appreciatively, and tensed when someone pulled at her blindfold. 

"You okay, B?" Faith asked, and Buffy nodded mutely. "He'll be here in a sec." 

"Who?" 

"The big man." 

"Where's Alice?" 

"It's cool, she's okay." 

"Where?" 

"Just... Somewhere else." 

Buffy was not particularly happy with that answer; but despite Faith's recent softening towards her she did press the issue for fear of a further beating, and she knew her body couldn't take much more. 

The door opened, and a man came through. He was probably about as old as Buffy's father - probably, because Buffy hadn't seen him in about twenty years. He was well-dressed, and he was smiling, although there was something of the politician's greasy smile about him that Buffy didn't trust for a single second. 

"Miss Summers!" 

"Dashwood," she corrected warily. "And it's Mrs." 

"Of course, the famous double marriage. Allow me to introduce myself: Richard Wilkins III - like they say, third time's the charm!" His voice was genial, his manner friendly. Still she didn't trust him at all - well, he had her in chains, didn't he? "Good journey, Faith?" 

Faith shrugged. "Five by five. Had to take a detour - Navy was bugging us. But I got her here." 

"Excellent. Any trouble?" 

"I think I got the fight out of her." 

You have no idea, Buffy thought. 

"Right, well, then. You can run along." 

Faith didn't move. 

"Faithie?" 

"I think I was promised something," she said. 

Wilkins beamed at her. "Absolutely. Carlos will have it." 

Faith looked wary, but she gave a slight nod. "And what about the kid?" 

For the first time Wilkins' confidence flickered. "Kid?" 

"My daughter," Buffy said. "We were separated when we landed. Where is she?" 

"I have no idea," Wilkins said. "But we don't need to be bothering with her. Faith - deal with it, would you?" 

Buffy whirled around and grabbed Faith's arm. "Don't hurt her," she said passionately. "Don't you dare hurt her." 

"Relax, B, I'm not gonna do anything. Hey," she added to Wilkins, "why did I go to all the trouble of bringing her here? She could be excellent leverage." 

Leverage? What were they talking about? Buffy was confused. Who were they trying to... lever? 

"Leverage?" Wilkins laughed. "Aw, Faith, you're still a comedian. I don't want leverage." 

"But - I thought - weren't you going after something of his-" 

"My husband didn't have anything of value," Buffy said quickly. 

To her horror, Wilkins smiled, and he looked like a snake. "Well, you're quite right," he said, "and also overwhelmingly wrong. What he did have," he reached out and stroked her face, and Buffy shuddered, "is you." 

Buffy stared in revulsion. "Get off me." 

"You know, you were wrong too," Wilkins said to Faith, his hand still on Buffy's cheek. "She's still got some fight left in her." 

"You lied to me," Faith said. 

"No, I don't think I did. I said any methods possible, I wanted to get what was most valuable to him. I don't care about art or money, Faith, I got a lot of both. I want to hurt that little guttersnipe," his manicured nails suddenly dug into Buffy's dirty cheek, "and take what was dearest to him." 

"What about the kid?" Faith said, her voice low. 

"What? Oh, kill her. I don't really care." 

"No!" Buffy began, but Wilkins suddenly struck her, and she fell to the ground. Kicking out, she knocked him off balance, but before she could go for him any more Faith yanked her back, and aimed a gun at Wilkins. 

"I thought this was about money," she said. 

"No, Faithie. It's about revenge," Wilkins said with a touch of condescension. 

"You'd kill the kid-?" 

He shrugged. "What does she mean to me?" 

"And Buffy? You want her to - to-" 

"She'll do for me what she did for him," Wilkins narrowed his serpent eyes at Buffy, and Faith fired off three shots: one hitting his knee, one his hip, and one his elbow. 

"Come on, B," she said, and fired two more shots to break Buffy's chains. She hauled the astonished blonde after her out of the room as Wilkins yelled obscenities after them, jammed the door shut with a chair, and stormed through the house. 

It was a big house, and a nice one, but Buffy hardly paid any attention as she raced on tired limbs after Faith. 

"What the hell was that?" 

"I thought he was ransoming you," Faith said tightly. 

"There's nothing to ransom me for," Buffy said. "Not anything that'd make a dent in his fortune, anyway," she added, looking around at the opulent house. 

"Yeah." 

"So what-" 

Faith whirled around, and waved the gun at Buffy. "I wouldn't have hurt your kid," she said. 

"Not while I still breathe," Buffy replied. 

"I've gotta get out of here," Faith said, pushing open a door and striding into the night. "You wanna come?" 

"What about Alice?" 

"I'll take you there." 

_So turn and run, you cold killers of innocence. Against us, there's no defence._

One more guard, and he was inside the house. It was silent, too big to navigate in the dark. Room after room of pointless antiques - fakes, mostly, and- 

A gunshot. Then another, then a third. 

Spike started running. He got there the same time as two more guards, who he shot in seconds, and then it was just him and Wilkins, the latter lying there bleeding on the floor. 

"Spike," the older man gasped. "What a pleasure seeing you again." 

Spike shot his other kneecap, and Wilkins howled in pain. 

"Could say the same, but I'd be lying. Where are they?" 

"I have no idea-" 

Spike raised his gun again. 

"Okay - they left." 

"Left? You let them go. Just wander around the grounds for a stroll, right?" 

"With Faith." 

Spike's eyes narrowed. "The bint who shot me?" 

"She's a good aim-" 

"_Where_?" 

"I don't know - she just shot me and left-" 

"With my wife and my daughter?" 

"Well, just your wife-" 

"Where's Alice?" 

"Who?" 

Spike fired one more shot, this time into Wilkins' shoulder. 

"My daughter. Three years old, blonde hair. Likes dogs and Lieutenant Commander Data. Where. The. Fuck. Is. She?" 

Wilkins shook his head. "I don't know." He laughed "you know Spike, I actually don't know. But I know she's dead." 

Spike had ten bullets left in his gun, and he fired them all into Wilkins' body. Three went directly into his head. 

Then he turned and walked out, his face grim in the darkness, fist clenched, eyes determined not to cry. 

He got as far as his stolen car when the road outside filled with blaring lights and men in uniforms with guns, and Spanish yells of, "Police! Stop or we'll shoot you!" filled the air. 

For a few seconds he considered letting them shoot him. But then he remembered Buffy, and even if Alice was - was - what he said - which she couldn't be, not his baby girl - then he still had to live for Buffy, she'd be so lost and hurt, and for Will, he'd miss his sister... 

He dropped his gun and raised his hands, and let them take him. 

_Your flash and your wickedness will surely bring you down again_. 

Faith replaced the phone and looked up at Buffy. 

"You okay?" 

Buffy cuddled Alice to her and nodded. Faith had taken her to a house in the town where Alice was being held by a couple of men with guns. The little girl had been frightened, but both men had kids of their own, they told Buffy, and they'd never hurt Alice. 

Faith had sent them away, then picked up the phone and called the police to give them Wilkins' location. 

"Now what are you going to do?" Buffy asked. 

Faith shrugged. "Got a life of crime behind me. I can either keep on running, or I can turn myself in." 

"Which'll it be?" 

Faith sighed. "If they get to the village they'll get to me," she said. "I can't get away fast enough." She handed the truck keys to Buffy. "Go. They won't be looking for you." 

"I'm fairy sure we'll be filed as missing-" 

"Not in Mexico," Faith smiled faintly. "Go, B. Mexico City's about an hour, hour and a half away. Go to the embassy or something." 

Buffy hesitated. It seemed a little too good to be true. 

She turned her head to a noise outside. 

"They're coming," Faith said. "Go." 

Buffy gave her a quick smile, then ran, Alice in her arms. 

_Somehow we will stay afloat: we won't give in to the undertow. Some things you will never know._

Spike woke in a Mexican jail cell, head thumping, shoulder leaking blood, and opened his mouth to start yelling. 

_You can't break our love: you can pull us down, but you can't break our love_. 

_A.N. So... whaddya think? Poetic? Poignant? Irrelevant?_

_Will Buffy and Spike survive? Or will they both get kidnapped by a rival drugs cartel and die in a Butch and Sundance shootout?_

_The question is: how evil do you think I really am?_


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

_Heavens! Last chapter already? How can this be so short? Well, did you really want the day-by-day of Spike's misery and Buffy's captivity? Didn't think so. Read on for Spuffy happiness!_

She stopped the car before she ran out of gas and fumbled through Mexican Information to get the number of the US Embassy in Mexico City. When she told them her name, they whooped in delight: "We've been looking for you for a week!" 

They sent a helicopter to pick Buffy and Alice up, and within half an hour they were on American soil - officially, if not actually. Doctors were summoned, baths were drawn, clothes were found and food was prepared bountifully, and through it all Buffy clung to her little girl as if there was no one left in the world. 

"We've contacted your sister, Mrs Dashwood, she wants you to know she and your son are fine." 

Buffy nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. When she found the words, they came out as, "When can we go home?" 

"Just as soon as we get your emergency passports issued," was the reply. "Get some sleep, the doctors said you should rest." 

They'd been appalled at the state of Buffy - Alice looked in a bad way, but she had no more than a handful of superficial cuts and bruises. Buffy was scarred inside and out, and the general advice was that she shouldn't travel at all. 

But she did, and got on a plane to LAX as soon as she could, sleeping most of the while, holding onto Alice, the airport and the plane and the people all so clean, so bright, so comfortable. It seemed surreal. She couldn't believe she was going home. 

She was met at the gate by a familiar figure: Riley, in full black-ops regalia. He looked pretty impressive, and he had a big gun that frightened Alice. 

"How're you doing?" 

Buffy shrugged tiredly. "I just want to go home," she said, and her eyes filled with tears as she remembered who wouldn't be there. 

She let Riley escort her to the terminal - bypassing customs and baggage in a special hostage sort of route - and as soon as she stepped into Arrivals a barrage of paparazzi met her, cameras snapping. Buffy recoiled, and Alice clung to her legs. 

"Mrs Dashwood-" 

"Buffy-" 

"What was it like?" 

"How did you escape?" 

"A few words-" 

"Buffy-" 

"Buffy-" 

Alice whimpered, and Buffy tried to pick her up, but she felt too weak. Every muscle she had ached, every bone throbbed. She looked up at Riley, who wordlessly scooped Alice into his arms and led the way through the press pack. She followed, feeling crushed by all these people when she'd been so used to solitude - and then she heard a familiar voice calling her name. 

"Buffy? Hey, Buffster!" 

She looked up, and saw Xander waving from the back of the pack. And on his shoulders rode Will, waving manically. 

"Mommy!" 

Buffy suddenly found a burst of strength and shoved through the reporters, grabbing Will and hugging him so tight he squeaked. 

"Ow, Mommy!" 

"I'm sorry." Losing her grip on both him and her emotions, Buffy slithered to her knees, arms still around Will, tears pouring down her face. "Oh baby, I missed you so much. I'm never leaving you again." 

"Buffy?" someone said behind her, but Buffy, her head buried in her son's sweater, didn't really hear. 

"Buffy, love? Did you miss me?" 

And then she froze, because that was Spike's voice. Spike, who was dead. She'd seen him die. He couldn't be here. 

She was imagining it, wanting it too much. 

She lifted her head and looked around anyway, because the temptation was too much, and then she saw him standing there, looking uncertain and tired, desperate, hopeful. 

"Buffy-" he said, and shock overtook her. 

She fainted. 

"Buffy. Buffy, wake up. Buffy, Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy-" 

Spike shook his wife by the shoulders, his fingers digging in, and suddenly her eyes burst open. 

She stared at him for a long moment, and he stared right back: green against blue, two pairs of tired, hungry eyes. 

"Spike?" 

Her voice came out small. She looked disbelieving. They were in a small office, the door firmly shut, everyone else outside. 

Spike relaxed his grip. "You fainted, love. That bloody press pack - like sodding vultures, they are - what you've been through, you need time to rest-" 

She put her hand to his cheek, felt the sharp ridge of bone under his smooth flesh, warm flesh, alive flesh. 

"Spike?" 

He changed mental gear. "Yes, love." 

"I thought you were..." 

Her fingers roamed over the peaks and planes of his face, then down across his neck, feeling his pulse leap, over the collar of his shirt, his shoulder- 

He flinched. 

"Still healing there, love." 

"Healing," Buffy repeated. "She shot you." 

"Yeah. Missed the vitals though, eh pet? I'm still here." 

Tears started rolling down her face. "I thought you were dead. She said you were and I saw you, I thought I saw you..." 

Spike gathered her in close and tucked her head under his chin, stroking back her hair. "Not dead, love. Not while you still draw breath. Can't die until you do, pet, I couldn't leave you like that." 

He pulled her head back and looked into her eyes. "I'll never leave you again," he said, and Buffy nodded, a weak smile growing through her tears. 

Spike smiled too, and kissed her lightly. "Love you, Buffy." 

She wrapped her arms around his strong, mending body. "Love you too." 

"You wouldn't believe what I've been through trying to find you," he said, and Buffy's mouth dropped open. 

"What _you've_ been through? Oh, and it was all silk sheets for me, I suppose?" 

"Have you ever been in a Mexican jail? They don't like Yanks there, you know." 

"You're not a Yank." 

"That's what I said. Had to get bloody Giles on the phone to sort me out - he'll never forget that, you know." 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And Riley. The way he told it, he found me single-handedly and all you did was turn up and fire a gun." 

"Oh, yeah, that's me. I turn up to rescue you and you're already sodding gone. I only just go back here in time to see you faint-" 

"I thought you were a ghost." 

"Lot of that going around love," his fingers tightened momentarily against her skin. "That twat Wilkins tried to tell me Alice was dead." 

Buffy shook her head. "I - oh God, Spike!" 

"What?" He stared at her in alarm. "What?" 

"The baby-" her hands flew to her stomach. "Oh God, Spike, I'd forgotten. She was going to hurt Alice, she had a gun and I thought she was going to kill her and I couldn't - I couldn't let her hurt my baby, so she hurt me, she kicked me and hit me and I tried to protect it, Spike, I tried and I tried but she wouldn't stop, and I was bleeding and it..." Buffy was crying again, "Spike, I lost the baby." 

For a few seconds he gazed at her. "That Andersen woman?" 

Buffy nodded tearfully. "She saved us in the end. She wouldn't have hurt Alice but I didn't know that. I lost the baby. I'm so sorry, Spike..." 

He held her close as she cried again, stroked her hair and rocked her gently as he tried to put it together. Giles had said something about one of Buffy's kidnappers giving herself up. Faith had beaten Buffy badly enough to cause her to miscarry - and then saved her life? 

But that didn't matter. He lifted Buffy's face and gently kissed her mouth. "You protected Alice," he said. "You took care of my little girl. My tiny baby. Buffy, love," he tucked a strand of dull hair behind her ear, "you put the child we have above the one we didn't know yet. You came back to me and you brought my little girl back safe and sound. That's all that matters. There can be other babies, pet, if you want." 

Buffy sniffed. "What if I can't? What if I'm too damaged?" 

Spike ran his hand down her back - he could feel all her ribs. Dammit, she needed to eat. "You know what? Right outside this door we've got two beautiful, healthy children we both love enough to risk our lives for them. And we got each other. You and me, love, and we're forever. And if I never have anything else, that's enough for me. _You're_ enough for me. Everything else is like a dream I don't deserve." 

Buffy looked up at him, this strong, brave, vulnerable man who loved her so much she could see the fear on his face, and she knew it was enough for her, too. 

She kissed him, her husband and lover and salvation, held him close and knew she'd never let go. 

"I love you," she said quietly, and watched the smile, like a new dawn, break over his face. 

"Bloody love you too, Summers. Now, about that baby-making - I reckon we should get some practice in..." 

_The End_

__

_And here's where the title came from: Romberg and Hammerstein's Lover Come Back To Me_

__

___The sky was blue, and high above  
The moon was new, and so was love  
This eager heart of mine was singing:  
Lover where can you be?_

_You came at last: love had its day  
That day is past, you've gone away  
This aching heart of mine is singing:  
Lover come back to me_

_When I remember every little thing you used to do  
I'm so lonely  
Every road I walk along, I walked along with you  
No wonder I am lonely_

_The sky was blue, the night was cold  
The moon was new; but love was old  
And while I'm waiting here  
This heart of mine is singing  
Lover come back to me   
_


End file.
